You Must Have Had Suitors
by muchbeddled
Summary: Set Preseries. Tales of some of Marian's suitors and Robin's adventures while he was in the Holy Land. Final chapter written by FireSpring Roses.
1. Chapter 1

"Gisbourne! Come say, 'Hello,' to my predecessor and his daughter. Come, don't be rude."

Marian watched in vague disbelief as the new Sheriff, an ugly bald little man, smiled maniacally at her father and herself. He had only just arrived in Nottingham, and her noble father was generously showing him around the Castle. And now he was calling for his...his what? His assistant..his friend...his personal body guard? to come and meet them.

A tall dark figure stepped from the shadows, and Marian felt herself involuntarily shudder. The figure loomed so large, so menacingly before her. She couldn't make out his features in the shadows, but she seemed to feel his eyes boring straight through her.

"I am Sir Guy of Gisbourne." The voice was deep, and threatening, almost as if it expected to be mocked and was warding off an attack.

"How do you do, Sir Guy?" Marian's father was composed, and courteous in this awkward situation. "I am Sir Edward of Knighton, and this is my daughter, Lady Marian."

"I am very pleased to meet you." Marian uttered the words graciously, as she had been taught, but inside, she was seething.

Her father had been Sheriff for years, and had served the shire well. He had slaved and sacrificed to doll out justice, and now, he was being removed by Prince John, just because this ugly little weasel in his fur trimmed black clothing had purchased the position for a high price! In her heart, she cursed King Richard for going off to war and leaving his people in the corrupt hands of his younger brother.

Yes, everything was King Richard's fault! If he had not gone to war...then no one else would have been able to go to war, either. Been able to travel thousands of miles away to fight and probably get himself killed, leaving her here alone, without his smile or his company or his empty promises of a perfect life together.

Her anger increased as she felt tears sting her eyes. No! She would not cry again, especially in the company of strangers. Strangers who were kicking her father from his rightful place. She had too much pride, and she somehow mastered her tears.

She turned her eyes upon the man the new Sheriff had introduced. He was no longer looking at her, so she could study him, while her father explained how things operated in the shire. The first thing she noticed was how imposing he was. Like the new Sheriff, he was entirely dressed in black, his broad shoulders and strong limbs boldly outlined against the stone castle walls. His hair was black, as well, as was his expression. He was clean shaven, and she noticed that his guarded eyes were blue.

Blue! She marveled to herself how very different shades of blue could appear in male eyes. This man's eyes were steely blue, blue like the frigid water of a stream, blue like the glint of cold steel on the blade of a sword. Not the blue she longed to gaze into...the blue eyes she saw smiling back at her in her dreams. Those blue eyes were open, and honest, and full of hopes and dreams. Beautiful dreams he had invited her to share with him. Those blue eyes twinkled with mischief, or gleamed with pride, or smiled with approval and wonderment and adoration for her. They sympathized with her when she was sad, flashed at her when they were angry, and smouldered at her when they...when they... She stopped her wayward thoughts and smoothed her skirts, brushing away the hopeless memories.

Did she hear correctly? Did the new Sheriff really just interrupt her father by saying, "Well, la dee dah dee dah. Do I care? A clue...no!" Surely not! How completely rude!

Oh! She noticed Martin of Aylesbury standing by the stairs in the Courtyard, trying to get her attention. She had danced with him last evening, and had promised to ride with him today.

Last evening, she had enjoyed his company and attentions. He was an excellent dancer, and partnered her well. He was amusing, and decent looking, and polite. But today, now that the new Sheriff and his crony had arrived, she didn't have the stomach for company.

She would like to go riding, but alone, not in company. Well, it couldn't be helped. She had made a promise, and unlike some people, she believed in keeping her promises.

"Pardon me, Father, Sheriff, Sir Guy. I have a prior engagement I must keep."

As she walked away, she did not feel Sir Guy of Gisbourne's eyes follow her. She had no way of knowing that his interest in her increased when he saw her join Martin of Aylesbury.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're being quiet today, Lady Marian. I hope I've done nothing to offend you."

Marian's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Martin of Aylesbury, as they rode on horseback through wintry fields.

It was a mild winter morning, with a gray sky, but no bitter wind to chill them. The breath of their horses puffed white clouds onto the air, but the day wasn't so cold that they could see their own breath.

"I am sorry," Marian apologized. "You've done nothing wrong. I am a little preoccupied, is all."

She couldn't tell him about the new Sheriff. She couldn't speak the words aloud, that her father was being removed from office. It stung too much.

The young man watched her as they rode side by side. She could ride much better than he, and he had taken a risk asking her to ride out with him today. If she had wanted to race, the way he remembered her doing with Locksley, he'd have been at a loss. But, thankfully, she had not suggested any such thing. They simply rode quietly, at a slow pace, and he hoped she was enjoying herself as much as he was.

She was so beautiful! He couldn't believe she was actually riding beside him, even if she wasn't in a mood to talk. He had so enjoyed dancing with her last evening, once he had gotten up the nerve to ask her to dance, and he had not slept a wink last night for thinking about her.

He was letting her take the lead, as far as where she wanted to ride, and she had led them to the edge of the forest.

Marian reined Vesper and smiled at Martin. "Would you like to ride through Sherwood?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "Lady Marian, surely you jest. The forest is no place for a lady. Everyone knows it's full of outlaw bands."

She masked her acute disappointment. Maybe it was just as well. These woods held far too many memories for her, and she might find herself crying, or, worse yet, screaming, if she entered them again with Martin.

If only she were alone, she would not hesitate to ride through Sherwood. She'd never been frightened of outlaws here! These woods were home to her, as much as Knighton Hall was home! She'd played in the shelter of the forest all her life, and she could certainly defend herself against any outlaw who might dare to cross her! She'd been taught to fight, right here amongst these trees, where no busybodies might frown at her for taking lessons from the boy who was such an expert at archery and so brilliant at swordplay.

"Lady Marian, are you alright?"

Marian looked away, furious at herself for letting a tear escape her eye. And Martin had seen it! She felt like such a fool!

"I'm quite well, thank you. There was something in my eye. And you are quite right about the forest. Come, shall we ride on?"

They continued their slow and steady pace, and Marian tried to empty her mind of thoughts. She wished Martin would say something! He'd been so amusing last evening, full of mild gossip about various lords and ladies attending the banquet. She'd even let him kiss her, but that was only because he had danced her under the mistletoe. It was a respectful kiss, but a kiss all the same. The first kiss she'd had since...but she wouldn't think about that.

So many kisses! She could close her eyes and taste him still, and feel the pressure of his lips, and how his chin with its intriguing dimple poked her chin, and how his bottom lip clung to hers a split second after a kiss was through. Often in the winter, his lips were chapped, as hers were today.

She had heard there was no winter at all where he was. No winter and no forest. It must be interesting to celebrate Christmas so close to where it actually took place! That made her wonder about the star. At Christmastime, could you still see a bright star there in the heavens? It was morning here...was it day or nighttime there? And if it were night, was he looking up at the stars right now, and thinking of her?

She looked up at the sky, and got angry at herself again for doing so. She was being ridiculous! She would stop this right now! He's the one who had left her. He didn't deserve her, so why did she even waste one thought on him?

"Martin, how is your sister? I haven't seen her in such a long time."

"She's doing well. Married life suits her. It was a good match. Lord Louthborough is a good husband."

Marian couldn't resist letting out a giggle. Martin was pleased. She had been so serious, and now, at last, she was smiling brightly. "May I ask what you find so amusing?" he wondered.

"Oh, it's just Lord Louthborough. I can't imagine him a good husband."

Now it was Martin's turn to be serious. Was she laughing at his sister's husband? He couldn't believe she would do that! There was nothing at all funny about Lord Louthborough! He was a sober and respectable gentleman, and his sister was lucky to have achieved such status as his wife.

Marian didn't mention that Lord Louthborough had once pursued her, but had rejected her before she knew what he was about, because he had found her too wayward. It would be better not to mention that! It had happened right before she had discovered that she was already betrothed to-

How could he throw everything away? How could he just drop everything and run off into battle? She hoped some Saracen was killing him this very instant!

No! She didn't! She breathed a quick prayer for his safety, and for forgiveness for her sin of wishing him dead. And then she wished him dead again, and again prayed that he would be spared.

Enough! What was she doing? She would focus her attention on Martin, who was trying so hard to be charming, and was being so considerate of her feelings. But first, she had better apologize for laughing at Loath Bore Oh.

"Martin, I'm so sorry. I must have been thinking of someone else. I'm delighted to hear your sister is happy."

He forgave her immediately. "She truly is. She tells me there's nothing so wonderful as being married."

Unless its the glory of the battlefield. At least to a fool. "When you next see her, please give her my regards."

"With pleasure, milady."

They were approaching a village, and Martin looked at Marian questioningly. She had led them to Locksley! Why had she done that? He'd have thought that Locksley would be the last place she would lead them.

God! How she and Locksley had been in love! Their feelings for each other had been so obvious, and it came as quite a shock when he had left for the Crusades, and their betrothal was broken. Then, she had been ill, and had only recently recovered her health. And now, Martin felt privileged and excited to woo her. But what had she done, leading him to Locksley? Who could she be wanting to see here? With the Lord of the Manor gone, and he with no family, there were only peasants and serfs and servants living here...no one worthy of their attention.

Marian looked surprised to be in Locksley as well. In truth, she had not been aware she had been heading this way. And now that they were here, she was even more astonished. Someone was moving into the Manor? Who? And why? It was Robin's house! But it was very clear, for many of Robin's servants were unloading a cart full of belongings, and carrying them into the house.

"Come on," she said, "we need to find out what's going on."


	3. Chapter 3

"Thornton, what is happening here?"

Marian charged into Locksley Manor, followed by a hesitant Martin of Aylesbury. Robin's servants were busily unloading a cart, bringing its contents into the Manor. Two guards Marian had never seen before, wearing yellow and black livery, rudely supervised the unloading.

"We are to have a new overlord, while the Master is gone, milady."

Marian snapped her lips shut to stop her jaw from dropping open. How dare he? Did he not think her father had done right by him, carefully making sure all remained well in Locksley, even when he had so many other duties as Sheriff to attend to? And now that her father was being pushed from his office, was he to suffer an additional humiliation and be replaced by a "new overlord?" This was too much!

"And just who is this 'new overlord?' "

"I shall supervise these lands, while Huntington is away."

The deep chilly voice she had heard this morning at the Castle enveloped the room, like a fog rolling in and settling over everything, weighing down the very air. For a moment, Marian found it difficult to breathe.

"Sir Guy?" she asked, her voice sounding high pitched and strange to her ears. She noticed Martin take a step back.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne stepped into sight. She was surprised she hadn't noticed him in the room before. Did he also have the ability to sneak up on a person and seem to materialize out of thin air, just like...? But the effect was completely different. In this case, the effect was ominous, not joyous, or infuriating, depending on the situation.

"I have been given this house and these lands to keep for Huntington, for as long as he remains away," Gisbourne repeated.

"I did not know you were acquainted with Lord Locksley," Marian stammered, using the title Robin preferred, his less ostentatious one.

"We've never met." Gisbourne sniffed once, distastefully, as if the smell in the house offended his nostrils. It smelled like freshly baked bread.

"Then, why...?"

"Sheriff put me in charge."

Marian's eyes widened, and Gisbourne nearly sneered into her face. But he didn't think she was worth a sneer. She and her father were out now. He and Vaisey were in. He'd teach her to come charging onto his property as if she owned it. With one swift movement, he reached over the fireplace and tore down the Huntington green and gold hanging, and tossed it into the fire.

"Take them all down, throughout the house, and burn them. Replace them with the Gisbourne colors. Immediately."

He folded his arms across his chest and gave Marian a superior smile, his head tilted to one side, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Do not!" she commanded the servants. None of them had moved to obey Gisbourne's order, being in states of shock to see the Huntington colors torn down and smoking in the fire.

Gisbourne was surprised at her boldness. What gave her the right to defy him? In front of the servants? He restrained his impulse to send her flying across the room with a swat of his hand.

"Leave, now. Both of you," he commanded. "If you are not gone in five seconds, I will personally throw you out of here myself."

He took a step toward her, and was amazed when she did not flinch. The young coward she was with retreated like a frightened rabbit.

"Good day, Sir Guy." Her tone was brave, and noble, but cold as ice. She turned and took the young man's hand, leading him away from Locksley.

...

When they were at a safe distance, on horseback, Martin of Aylesbury at last found the courage to speak.

"I am surprised your lord father gave over Locksley's lands to that brute."

"He didn't," Marian replied, through gritted teeth.

"Not to be disrespectful, milady, but he said..."

"My father's no longer Sheriff."

There! She had said it! It hurt, but not as badly as it had hurt to see Robin's colors smouldering in the fire.

"I don't understand. Your father's not Sheriff?"

"He's been replaced."

"When did this happen?"

"The new Sheriff arrived this morning. I'm sure we will celebrate at the festivities tonight."

There was to be another banquet and ball this evening, as there was to be every day this week, in celebration of the Advent season.

Martin was silent. If her father was no longer Sheriff, what did that make her? In one instant, she had fallen dramatically as a candidate for a potential wife.

The daughter of a knight? Was that all she was now? This was extremely disappointing! He wondered whether he should forget his suit, before it progressed any farther, and try for a loftier prize. But no. She was still Sir Edward's sole heir. Her husband would gain the house and lands at Knighton. And...she was so beautiful.

They rode back to the Castle in silence, each one occupied with his or her own thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Marian tried to remain calm as she listened to her father comfort her.

"You mustn't let this upset you so," he explained gently. "We must look upon this as a blessing in disguise. It's time for me to step aside, and let someone else handle the shire's problems. We can go home to Knighton, and I can live out the rest of my days in peace. Come, Marian, let me see you smile! Come to the banquet, and dance and flirt to your heart's content with that Martin of Aylesbury. Don't think I didn't see him steer you under the mistletoe last evening!"

Marian looked at her father...her wonderful, noble father. Perhaps he was right. Was it really so horrible for him to step down as Sheriff? It was probably a relief for him. He had worked so hard for so many years. And now, they could live together back home in Knighton Hall. They so preferred residing there to living in the Castle.

"Thank you, Father." She smiled, her eyes sparkling at him. She would try to have fun tonight.

She knew she looked stunning in her new red velvet gown. It was perfect for the Advent Season, leading up to Christmas. It hugged her form, its scooped neckline bordered by a jeweled band. She hoped the sight of her in it might have an effect on Martin of Aylesbury, when he saw her at the banquet tonight.

She was not disappointed, either, when she entered the Great Hall, and saw Martin gasp for breath when he spied her.

It was so refreshing to have her suitor arrive before she did, so she could be the one making the entrance, and garnering the attention! It was right and proper! Martin, for all of his cowardice today, was at least timely. He was not so arrogant as to keep others waiting for him.

She expected to have a wonderful time tonight. Parties of this sort seemed to be where Martin shone. He was much more comfortable in this atmosphere than on horseback. At least he had considered her feelings by asking her to go riding, knowing how greatly she enjoyed it, when he clearly did not.

Marian pretended not to notice as Martin hastily excused himself from his brother-in-law, Lord Louthborough, and hurried to her side. She looked up, feigning surprise, when he approached her.

"Lady Marian," he said,"you honor this gathering merely by your presence."

That was a pretty line, and she accepted it as the gallantry it was meant to be. "Thank you, Lord Aylesbury."

"Would you think me too forward if I asked you to call me 'Martin'? "

"Martin," she said, teasingly, "you practically pulled me under the mistletoe last evening. I do not think calling you by your Christian name competes with that for forwardness."

He smiled back at her. "I must be more subtle, I see."

A bold thought struck her. Why not? She needed to be bold, and enjoy herself, and forget all about Him once and for all. She looked up at the ceiling and took five steps, so that she stood directly under some hanging mistletoe, then looked back at Martin, a challenge in her eyes.

Martin was surprised, and very, very pleased. She actually liked him! She was actually inviting him to kiss her! He knew she was too well brought up to do any such thing without the benefit of mistletoe. Thank God for Advent! He took a deep breath, walked over to her, and pressed his lips to hers.

People were watching, so he couldn't kiss her the way he wanted. Still, it was more of a true kiss than the respectful peck he had given her last evening. He noticed she closed her eyes, and he felt her lips press his in return. Hers were soft but firm, and slightly cold tonight. He counted slowly to five in his head, and pulled away.

He wondered what she was feeling. Was she as thrilled as he was? God! She was beautiful! If this was the way the evening began, he wondered how it would end!

For her part, Marian was very proud of herself. There! That would show Him, even if He wasn't here to see it! She didn't care a fig for Him anymore! She was young and beautiful and highly desired. Every man in this room would like to kiss her, at least the single ones, she thought naively. She fought hard to push away the unexpected sorrow that had invaded her spirit the moment her lips met Martin's.

"I would consider it an honor, were you to sit beside me at the banqueting table." Martin was sure she wouldn't refuse, not after what she had just done.

"The honor will be all mine," Marian replied.

And so, they dined together again tonight, and Martin entertained her with amusing gossip about the others present at the feast. She stopped him when he began to speak about Walter of Merton.

"Lord Merton is a friend of my father's. I have no desire to hear unlikely tales of his wife's so called 'roving eye.' "

"Then, what, pray tell, Lady Marian, do you have desire for?"

He felt he was being bold, but she had uttered the word first, after all.

"I should love to dance," she responded honestly.

Martin hesitated. He was a skilled dancer, and knew his dancing had impressed her last night, but the musicians were playing an unfamiliar tune, and he was not completely sure of the steps. He usually spent several hours perfecting the steps to a dance before he ventured to perform it in public. But he couldn't tell her that! He remembered Locksley leading her in unknown dances, picking them up immediately, and effortlessly.

"I think we should wait until the song is better," he stalled.

Marian looked confused, but brushed it off. At least she had stopped his gossip.

At first, she had been amused by his chatter, but after a time, she began to think it rather distasteful, and even ugly. She was getting bored, and didn't want to be. She wanted to be having fun. She wanted to dance! The musicians were playing a brand new tune, and no one was dancing, being too timid to try without first being completely sure of themselves. How dull people were!

If she couldn't be dancing, then she had better be kissing!

The thought surprised her. It must be the wine. She hadn't had much, only one small goblet, but it was heady. She would not drink any more tonight.

She would love to be kissing. She smiled as she remembered holding His hand, and rushing to the very top of the battlements, and being kissed for hours and hours under a starry sky. They had talked of everything...of nothing...but there had not been one ugly gossipy word at anyone's expense. He had wrapped her in his cloak to keep the wind from chilling them, but there had been no need. Love had warmed them to their very cores.

Love! She had been sure it was love. What was it then, if it wasn't love? But he had never, not once, spoken the word.

She was feeling more and more unhappy. Well, there were two cures for that. One was for her to dress up in her male attire tonight, and secretly distribute food parcels and medicine to the needy. People had begun to notice, and watch for her...even calling her "The Nightwatchman." She did not wish to be known, or even noticed. She only wanted to help, but she couldn't do that as Lady Marian. It would be forbidden, as she was expected to maintain her distance from those of a lower station, and only take part in the charities approved for her. She planned to make her rounds tonight, after the party. But that would be later.

As for now, she needed to forget. And she couldn't forget if she was only lukewarm. She wanted to feel herself head over heels in love again. She wanted to be swept away, so that she wouldn't think for one instant of the blue eyed boy with the bow. She changed her mind about the wine, and took a second goblet when it was offered to her.

"Lady Marian," Martin was saying, "I would be honored if you would dance with me now."

Marian rose happily, and began to dance with him. The musicians were playing one of the same tunes they had danced to last evening, and she was pleased again how well he partnered her. His clothing was exquisite, and did much to enhance his appearance, which was...alright. She thought his brown eyes were unremarkable, and too small, but he had a nice profile. She liked his hair. It was a sandy brown color, and looked soft, and it reminded her of...well, she liked it. He was neither too stocky nor too thin, but he lacked the muscle for her to describe him as "just right." She felt that his teeth were good, if a bit big, and she suddenly began to laugh softly.

"May I ask, milady, what amuses you?"

"I was just thinking of buying a horse," she answered. "You must always check out a horse's teeth before you buy one, you know."

"You certainly know a great deal about horses. You are one of the finest horsewomen I have ever met, if not the finest."

His compliment was sincere, and Marian appreciated it. "Thank you," she said, as they continued to dance. "Now, isn't this better than making unkind remarks toward others?"

"I was only repeating what I've heard. Surely there's no harm in that. You seemed to enjoy it last night."

"It was wrong of me. Martin, let's promise to not gossip about others any more."

He looked at her and smiled uncomfortably. "'Tis only gossip. What harm does it do?"

"Perhaps none. But we're too good for that. Speak to me instead of something you care about."

This was an invitation too good to pass up. He would take a chance and be bold.

"Something I care about? Well, her eyes are blue, like the sky, and fringed with dark lashes. Her hair is thick, and a magnificent chestnut brown hue. When she smiles, dimples appear in her cheeks, and her teeth are small and white, like precious pearls." He took a deep breath, hoping she would be pleased.

She was, partially. "And what else?" she asked.

What else? Hadn't he said enough? She wasn't expecting him to wax poetic about her form, was she, or her lips? Not yet, surely! But, what else did she want him to say? He hadn't mentioned her cheek!

"Her cheek is creamy, and smooth, and soft, and fair, with the blush of pink roses."

"And one day, it will be withered and grey. What then, Martin?"

He was surprised. "What?"

"One day, her beauty will fade. What will she have to commend her then?"

He was at a loss for words. No lady had ever acted like she just had, when he presented his very best compliments. This was highly unusual, and he didn't like it at all. Why couldn't she play along, and blush, and giggle?

Marian saw how unhappy she had made him, and was sorry. On impulse, she took his hand and led him up the stairs and out into the castle courtyard.

It was wrong, she knew. It was completely unlike her. But she wanted...no, she _needed_ to be kissed, and properly so.

She did not need to ask. Martin felt his pretty compliments had worked, and he was so pleased he could barely contain himself. She turned her face up to his in the moonlight, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. He was completely swept away.

Kiss him hard, forget about Robin. Kiss him hard, forget about Robin. Kiss him hard, forget about Robin. Kiss him hard, forget about Robin. Marian voiced the thought so determinedly, over and over in her head, she couldn't even feel the kiss. It only served to make her angry...furious at Robin...so that her kiss turned savage. Martin was surprised, and excited by the fire he believed he had ignited in her.

A snide little voice in the courtyard broke their kiss. "Kissing in the moonlight? Gisbourne, look at this! It would seem that we interrupted a sweet, tender romance. A clue...no! Come along inside, young lovebirds! I have an announcement to make!"

Guy of Gisbourne sneered at them as he passed. Martin and Marian composed themselves as they followed the odd pair in black back into the Great Hall.


	5. Chapter 5

"Lords, ladies...I, Vaisey, new Sheriff of Nottingham, have an announcement to make!"

Vaisey eyed the faces of the nobles celebrating in the Great Hall with satisfaction. All eyes were upon him, watching with pleasant interest. Oh, this was good! This was good!

"Gisbourne," he commanded, "be a good boy and snuff out most of those candles! There is entirely too much light here!"

Gisbourne obeyed by signalling for guards to carry out the Sheriff's orders. Within a few moments, the chamber lost its cheerful illumination.

"Ahh, much better!" Vaisey strutted back and forth, peering closely into the confused faces of the former revellers. "Can't be wasting money on frivolities, hmm? No, much better to save our pennies." He made his way to Edward of Knighton, and stood directly beside him, dwarfed by the former Sheriff's height and noble countenance.

"My predecessor, here, saw fit to let you waste the State's precious money on parties! On celebrations! On revels! But I ask you, is that wise? Is it just? Is it fair? A clue...no. The State must fill its coffers, and that, my friends, is what I intend to do! Oh, yes...The party's over, my friends! So, go home, all of you...to your nice, cozy beds. Nighty night now...and don't let the bedbugs bite. AND NO MORE MUSIC!" He stormed toward the musicians, seized a flute, and struck its owner on his head, knocking him senseless to the ground. As Gisbourne sneered in amusement, Vaisey crowed, "Oh, this is good! This is good!"

"Is he mad?" Marian asked Martin quietly.

"I believe he's drunk. He probably won't even recall this tomorrow. All the same, I think we had better go. Goodnight, milady."

Marian was disappointed when Martin hurried away. After what had happened between them, she expected he would want to remain in her company this evening. Just because the new Sheriff had ordered everyone to bed, didn't mean they had to obey him literally. Oh, well. She rolled her eyes and headed toward her chambers.

So much the better, really. Her suitor's rapid flight would allow her more time to venture through the shire as "The Nightwatchman." First stop tonight...Locksley.

...

Martin of Aylesbury's thoughts toyed with his memory of the two kisses he had shared with Marian tonight, while his manservant prepared him for bed.

The first kiss was proper, and measured. Lips upon lips, mild pressure, under the watchful eyes of those around them. He had maintained contact for as long as he felt he could, without stepping over the limits of propriety. Still, she had invited the kiss...the contact! It had been her idea, her intention!

The second kiss, the _real _one, had been of her instigation as well! His pretty wooing and compliments had won the day, and she had practically dragged him up the stairs and into the privacy of moonlight! And he had never, ever tasted such passion before!

He knew instinctively there was no other woman anywhere who would compare with her! And so, in his imagination, they were already married.

He could picture them dancing at Court, Lord and Lady Aylesbury, admired by all for their style, their form, their complete devotion to one another. No one but he would know what fires smouldered beneath her cool and proper demeanor. No one, he realized grimly, save Locksley.

Locklsley would return someday, and Aylesbury shivered just thinking about it. Locksley, with his incomparable good looks, his innumerable talents, his daring exploits. Locksley, with his clever tongue, his high spirits, his wicked charm. Locksley, with his unparalleled pedigree, his lofty titles, his vast holdings and fortune! Blast him! And now, surely, on top of all of that, he would return from battling the Saracens, covered with glory and honor! How, in God's name, was Martin supposed to compete with that?

Climbing into bed, he allowed his servant to pull the bedclothes to his chin, and blow out the light. Better hurry along his suit, Martin thought. Better hurry it along, and win his fair maiden. He rose from his bed and kneeled, praying for success, before climbing back under the covers and falling asleep.

...

In the darkness, the Nightwatchman crept stealthily behind the cottages of Locksley village. She had "borrowed" a horse, and tied it to nearby tree. It wouldn't do for people to recognize Vesper, and discover her identity. She'd return the horse where she'd found it when she had finished tonight.

As she stole along, she heard her name on Jane Scarlet's lips. She stopped near the Scarlet family cottage and listened to what Jane was telling her husband, Dan.

"Say whatever you like, I still can't say I like it. Lady Marian's heart belongs to Master Robin! Always has, and always will. And what will the Master say, when he comes home and finds her with that Alesbury?"

"Aylesbury, Jane...Aylesbury. Now, don't jump to conclusions. Just because we saw them riding together, doesn't mean they're a couple."

"A couple of deceivers!"

"Now, Jane..."

"And the Master so devoted! I hate to think of him risking his pretty neck, fighting alongside the King, and her making hay at home while he's gone, with some fancy youth who's too frightened to go to battle!"

"Jane...Jane..."

"I'll say my say, Dan. I don't think I can say it any plainer. I don't want Master Robin's sweet heart broken. The good Lord knows, he's had enough heartache his young life, bless him. And him always such a good lad."

"He's a man, now, Jane, and can look after his own affairs, I think."

"Even so, he's not going to be happy when he comes home and learns what she's been up to in his absence!"

How dare she? Marian thought. Jane Scarlet didn't know the facts! Marian owed him nothing! Their betrothal had been broken the afternoon he told her his intention to join King Richard on his glorious Crusade!

Marian remembered the scene vividly. The memory of it haunted her in the middle of the night, when she found she couldn't sleep, and sometimes intruded upon her thoughts during the day.

_It had been a stormy day, and she had been cooped up indoors at Knighton Hall, recovering from a nasty head cold. She was bored, and tried to amuse herself by jabbing a needle through fabric, in a hopeless attempt to create some beautiful piece of embroidery. Even she had to admit what she was sewing was hideous._

_She heard a horse outside her window, and smiled to see Robin make a dash from the stables to her front door. He was soaking wet, but she wasn't surprised. He never let a minor detail such as nasty weather prevent him from doing what he wanted to do._

_She blew her nose, smoothed her hair, and ran to the top of the stairs to watch her servant admit him._

_"Thank you, Sarah." He smiled kindly at her waiting woman, his natural charm seeming to bring sunshine along with his presence._

_"Don't even think of sitting in my father's house in your wet trousers," Marian teased, as she ran down the steps._

_He grinne__d at her, glancing around to make certain they were alone, before taking her in his arms. "You're not suggesting I take them off, are you?"_

_"Grow up, Locksley." Smiling, she lifted a restraining hand to his face as he tried to kiss her. "I've got a cold. You know __that."_

_"I'll take the risk," he grinned, "that is, unless you'd rather I didn't."_

_She adored kissing him, but really didn't feel like it, with her nose so stuffed up_._ "Let's wait until I'm better. Besides, __you're getting my gown all soaked, holding me so close."_

_"Oh! Sorry!" He released her quickly, but she laughed._

_"It's_ _alright...I don't mind. It's a good way to get you dry faster!"_

_"It's a good way to get me horsewhipped, should your father come home and find my imprint outlined down your front!" He couldn't resist running his finger from her collarbone to her navel. She melted at his touch, and soon they were enfolded in each other's arms, savoring a deep, slow kiss._

_"I'm glad you're here," she whispered. "I was so bored, I was sewing."_

_He laughed aloud, then grew serious and heaved a deep, anxious breath._

_"I've something to tell you. I've have word __from the King, Marian."_

_Impressed, she lifted her eyebrows, waiting expectantly for him to continue._

_"Come, sit," she invited, holding his hands and leading him to a seat by the fire._

_Still holding her hands, he looked deeply into her eyes before shattering her world._

"_King Richard's raising an army. He's going to free Jerusalem. He's asked me to serve alongside him, as Captain of his Elite Private Guard."_

_Marian's smile froze on her face. "Pardon?"_

_"You remember how I told you I helped stop the rebellion against the Jews in London, during Richard's Coronation? Well, the King was so impressed by my...my 'leadership, bravery, and skill at arms'...his words, Marian! that he's honoring me with this position. He wrote he needs me, Marian! King Richard needs me!"_

_Marian stared at him, her face registering disbelief. His was glowing with pride and excitement, like a young boy's._

_"You...what are you planning to do?" she asked, her voice sounding faint and far away._

_He hesitated, expecting an argument. "I don't have a choice, Marian."_

_"Everything is a choice," she stated, her voice full and strong again, "everything we do."_

_He was silent for a moment, studying her. "I'd like your support in this," he said quietly. "It's my duty. My duty to my King, my duty to my country, and my duty to my God. It's every Christian's duty to free Jerusalem from the Saracens."_

_"Is it mine?" she asked._

_He scoffed, trying to compensate for how badly he felt. "You're a woman."_

_"Am I not a Christian? You said it was every Christian's duty!"_

_"I meant men, Marian, obviously."_

_"And what of us, Robin__?"_

_"What of us? We're fine. In fact, we're great! Wonderful, even!" He stared into her unblinking eyes. "What do you mean, 'us?' "_

_"Us. You and me. We're betrothed to be married. Don't I have any say in your future? Your plans? Until today, you were happy to involve me!"_

_"Alright," he conceded, smugly, "let's hear your opinion. What do you think I should do?"_

_"I'm not going to tell you! You need to decide for yourself!"_

_"You don't want me to go! You want me to pass up this opportunity!"_

_"Opportunity? Is that the way you see it? I thought you said, 'duty!' "_

_"It is my duty!"_

_"Then, do it!"_

_They both fell silent. He rose and began pacing the floor, more miserable than he had ever been in his life. She sat stonily by her fire, regal as a queen, her features inscrutable._

_He dropped to his knees before her. "Marry me, Marian," he begged. "Marry me tonight. Much and I leave in two days' time. Can't you see? I don't want to go. I have to go."_

_"You want to go," she said, too surprised by his sudden suggestion to comment on it._

_"You're right...I do. But I don't want to leave you, I swear! Be my wife! I don't want to die in battle_,_ not having first..." His voice dropped off, as he looked at her pleadingly._

_"First what? How dare you? You want to marry me, so you can...can...deflower me, and then, run away and fight your glorious battles, and die, leaving me your widow? How selfish are you, Robin? I don't know you at all!"_

_"Be my wife," he pleaded again. "I want to be your husband for eternity!"_

_"You're really going?" she asked. His talk of dying had made her numb._

_"I am going."_

_She looked at the betrothal ring on her finger, remembering how happy they had been the day he had first slipped it on her hand. Furiously, she tore it off, and threw it in his face._

_"Go," she commanded, rising and opening her door. The raging wind nearly tore it off its hinges. "As we are not in agreement on when to marry, I think it best we don't marry at all! The only thing we agree on is this, that you should go."_

_"I'm going." Without another word, he walked out her door, into the storm. He didn't look back, even as she called his name, for the wind carried the sound of her __voice far from his ears._


	6. Chapter 6

Marian fumed as she considered Jane Scarlet's criticism of her for "abandoning" Robin. How ironic! Jane had no idea who had done the actual abandoning, and it wasn't herself!

She wondered how many other citizens of Locksley felt the same. They were as bad as Martin with their gossip!

Now, why had she thought that? Martin wasn't so bad. Gossip was just a bad habit he had picked up. She was certain he would break it, now that she had guided him away from it.

Enough thoughts! She needed to leave these parcels and get home to bed. She didn't want to appear tired in the morning. She wanted to appear lovely and refreshed. Besides, the gossip she had overheard had dramatically diminished her generous feelings toward this village tonight.

Tomorrow would be Wednesday, Market Day, and she planned to rise early and go to Market to buy something for her father for Christmas. She might even purchase a Christmas present for Martin. Yes, that would be fun! Now, what would he like? Obviously something nicer than twine and fletching and metal arrowheads!

As she approached the potter's cottage, she overheard the strident tones of Kate, arguing with her mother Rebecca.

"He will so, I tell you! Robin will marry me, now that she's taken up with someone else!"

"No, Kate, he won't. He'll never marry a peasant girl. You've got to stop thinking about the Master that way."

Again! More talk of herself and Robin! Didn't these people have anything else to speak of? What about the new overlord of the estate, Guy of Gisbourne? You'd think they'd be curious and talk of him!

Marian herself was curious, very curious indeed. She dropped off the parcels at the homes she felt had the greatest need, then cautiously approached Locksley Manor to see whether Gisbourne was there.

As it was winter, the shutters were closed, preventing her from being able to see inside the house. Still, if she just pulled one back, ever so slightly, she could take a peek inside.

She frowned when she saw the black and yellow hanging above the fireplace. Gisbourne had wasted no time, staking his claim to Robin's home! Even if he was so pathetic as to hang his colors in another man's house, he could have at least shown the proper respect for the Huntington colors. How dare he burn them? Those hangings had been given to Robin's family by the Conqueror! It was outrageous!

She saw Gisbourne himself brooding by the fire, attended by his two surly guards. Did the man even know how to smile? Still, he was striking, in an ominous, dark, and creepy sort of way. She guessed him to be around twenty-seven or eight, nearly ten years older than herself. Quite old, to her mind. Did he have a wife, she wondered, and if so, would his wife be joining him at Locksley?

Marian felt her face flush in anger under her Nightwatchman mask and scarf. She did not want some interloper serving as "Lady of the Manor!" It was her place to be...no, it wasn't! She had absolutely no desire to live at Locksley, with its gossipy villagers and its nasty pond.

She remembered falling into that pond when she was three years old, and she could still feel how cold the water was before Robin had jumped in and pulled her out. He had been just a tiny boy himself, but she had thought him magnificent that day. Little did she know! He had probably not been thinking of her at all! He'd probably only done it to get the glory and honor for rescuing poor little helpless Maid Marian from drowning! If he were only here now, wouldn't she just enjoy pushing him in that pond, jumping in after him, and holding his head underwater until he turned as blue as his eyes? Maybe that would wash some humility into him! Maybe, but she doubted it. Fool!

Her attention returned to Gisbourne when she noticed Thornton enter the room, and hand his new master a goblet of wine. "Will that be all, sir?" the servant asked.

"Tell me," Gisbourne said, after draining the cup, "what sort of man is your Master?"

"Master Robin, sir?"

"Huntington. Yes...Locksley. What sort of man is he?"

Thornton smiled fondly. "A fine young man, sir. One of the best."

Marian restrained herself from laughing aloud.

Gisbourne pressed on, sneering. "His fame as a marksman is well known throughout England. But what can you tell me about him, Thornton? What are his failings?"

"Failings, sir? I...I don't believe he has any."

Marian's expression of mocking disbelief matched Gisbourne's own. "Everyone has failings." Gisbourne's tone was threatening.

"The Master is too generous, sir. Too trusting. There have been times people have taken advantage of his good nature. Other than that, he is, as I said before, an excellent young man."

Marian wanted to shout out a litany of his faults. What about his arrogance? His cockiness? His tardiness? His vanity? His impetuosity? What of those traits? Thornton must be getting old and losing his memory! She would love to sit down with Sir Guy of Gisbourne and give him an earful! But she'd heard enough tonight. If Thornton wasn't going to be honest, then she didn't want to listen to his praise for the master who had left them all here in England to rot, while he took Much off to enjoy themselves on glorious adventures!

She turned from the window and was surprised to find herself face to face with another of Gisbourne's guards! Another one! She had thought there were only two!

"Oi, what do you think you're about?" He grabbed her by the wrist and shouted, "Sir Guy! I've caught an intruder!"

She wasn't about to wait for Guy of Gisbourne to come outside and make her acquaintance! Using a fight move Robin had taught her, she kneed the man in his groin, then kicked him to the ground once he had released her. She could almost hear Much's voice imploring her to, "Run!"

...

The following morning, Marian felt herself out of sorts as she moved from stall to stall, shopping for Christmas gifts in the Nottingham Market.

She had already purchased a gift for her father, but what would Martin like? Somehow, she couldn't see him being pleased with anything she saw for sale today.

Turning away from a stall, she caught her breath when she almost collided with Martin himself.

"Well," she said, cheering up at the sight of him, "it's a good thing I didn't choose anything here for your Christmas present! I'd prefer it to be a surprise."

"You're buying me a present? I'm flattered."

"You don't mind?"

He thought she looked especially lovely this morning. "Why should I mind? As I said, I'm flattered. Now, what would be considered a proper gift for a young man to give a beautiful young lady?"

"Now you flatter me! But whatever you give me, it has to be better than an empty box."

He looked confused. "An empty box? I fear I don't understand you, milady."

"Please, call me 'Marian.' And never mind. It's only, I was once handed a so called 'present,' but it was nothing more than an empty box."

She was struck again by how ironic life could be. Years ago, Robin had given her an empty box, all tied up in green ribbons, claiming it contained his heart. How was that any different from his promises to her? His promises appeared to be beautiful things, but when you stripped away their wrappings, you were left with nothing. Nothing at all.

"That sounds like some cruel joke. What idiot would have done that to you?" Please, let it have been Locksley, he prayed.

She smiled brightly, pleased at his word choice. Idiot, she thought. She must remember and add that to her list of his failings. Idiocy...was that the correct term for it? "Just some idiot of no consequence."

Martin got up his courage and took her arm. He was delighted when she didn't object. But then, after last night's kisses, why should she object?

"The weather's changing," he warned. "We'd better get inside. It's starting to snow."

"Good! I just love snow, don't you?" Her eyes lit up as she suggested, "Let's go for a ride!"

Martin looked aghast. "But, Marian," and they both smiled, hearing her name on his lips, "the ground will be slippery! And what of our clothing? I'm sure you have no wish to ruin your fine clothing by getting covered with wet snowflakes."

She was positive he was joking. "What harm can a little snow do? Come, it'll be fun! Would you like to see Knighton? We can ride there. No one's home at the moment, but we can build a fire, and I know where there are some apples."

No one home? Knighton sounded like a wonderful idea! In spite of the weather, Martin readily agreed. This would give him an excellent opportunity to evaluate her property...not to mention continue his wooing, and all in private!


	7. Chapter 7

Martin of Aylesbury was very pleased as Marian escorted him into Knighton Hall. His horse had not lost its footing through the snow, and if his clothing was a bit damp, well, it would give him a fine excuse to buy more. But mostly, what a wonderful opportunity for him to view her property...property he hoped would one day be his!

They had stabled their horses, and were stomping their feet and shaking out their cloaks, to remove the snow. "Why don't you light a fire, while I look for apples?" Marian suggested, delighted to be home. She took a few running steps and was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Light a fire? She didn't actually expect him to light a fire, did she? He knew she had said no one would be here, but that didn't include servants, did it? Apparently, it did, for the house was completely still and deserted. Light a fire...? He didn't even know how to begin!

Marian returned with a basket of fruit, and looked crestfallen when she saw no fire. "What about that fire?" she asked cheerfully. "I don't know about you, but I'm chilled to the bone."

"I...you don't really expect me to light a fire, do you?"

Marian thought it was obvious. "Yes," she answered, confused by his delay. "You don't mind, surely."

It was clear she expected it. He wondered whether Locksley had ever lit a fire for her. He shifted uncomfortably when he recognized the two possible meanings behind that statement. Well then, if Robert of Locksley, Earl of Huntington, could light fires for the Lady Marian, then he supposed that he, Martin of Aylesbury, could do the same. That is, he could, if he only knew how.

He bent down to put some wood in the grate, wondering whether there was any certain method to do so. He'd never even thought of it before. Now, how to get a spark going?

"Here's the flint," Marian smiled, handing it to him.

Martin had seen others strike a flint against another rock. He tried, but cried out in pain when he banged his hand.

"Are you alright?" Marian asked, dropping down beside him and taking his hand in her own, to access his injury.

Marian was surprised how soft his hand was. She had held his hand last night at the party, but he had been wearing gloves then. Today, without gloves, she was slightly put off. He had the hands of a lady! Why, they were even softer than hers! Had he never used them for any kind of work or sport?

Without meaning to, she contrasted them to Robin's strong hands, with their calluses from his frequent archery practice. She missed his long tapering fingers, whose caresses were so tender and lingering, in spite of his strength. His fingertips were so sensitive! And his thumbs! She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the heavenly feel of his thumb stroking her cheek.

"Marian?" Martin's voice woke her from her reverie. She gasped in surprise, and was immediately annoyed at herself. She needed to stop thinking of him! She could almost see his face, grinning smugly at her, taunting her for her thoughts. She'd show him!

But first, she guessed correctly that, if she wanted a fire today, then she would have to be the one to light it.

"Here," she said, picking up the flint. "You're hurt. I'll do it."

Martin watched in amazement as she rearranged the wood he had placed in the grate, then struck several blows with the flint. With difficulty, she managed to set some sparks flying, and before long, they were comfortably seated before a roaring blaze.

"You have a lovely home," Martin began politely.

"Thank you! I love it here! I'm actually glad my father and I will be moving back soon."

Martin hesitated. "I've been here once before...do you remember?"

She did, but was surprised he had mentioned it. He had not been at his best that day...far from it. In fact, she had thought him a bully and a coward whom she never hoped to meet again, on that day so long ago.

_It happened on __her ninth birthday, when Martin, his sister Margaret, and Robin had come to her home to celebrate. Martin was twelve, Robin eleven, and Margaret ten. Neither Marian nor Robin had ever met the brother and sister before, but their father was conducting business at the Castle, and Marian's father had suggested they go to Knighton to meet her._

_Marian and Robin had waited indoors for them to arrive, but, after awhile, Robin suggested they not waste such a fine summer day. Together, they ran outdoors to a nearby grove of trees, to begin their fun._

_Where no one could see or scold them, they climbed to the top of their favorite oak, and grasped onto a sturdy rope Robin had looped around a branch. With both their bodies clinging to the rope, they swung back and forth in wide arcs, just missing the tree's mighty trunk. Marian remembered how dangerous and exciting and exhilarating it had felt, almost as if they were flying._

_"What are you doing?" came a voice from below. Still clinging to the rope, Marian looked down and saw two very well dressed, but otherwise unremarkable children, staring up at them. Robin helped Marian climb back onto a tree branch, then he leaped from the treetop, turning a perfect back flip to the ground. Marian was envious, wishing she could follow him._

_"Hello," she heard him say, bowing his head to the girl and extending his hand to the boy. "I am Robin of Locksley. Welcome to Knighton."_

_"It's my house, Show Off," Marian called from above. "Let me make the introductions."_

_"What's stopping you? Hurry down and say hello, Wren."_

_"Don't call me that. I'm not a baby anymore." She was trying her hardest to climb down quickly, without tearing her gown._

_"That's right. It's her birthday. She's turning twenty-five today," he joked._

_"Don't listen to him. He thinks he's so clever," she called. When she had nearly reached the ground, she jumped from the tree, catching her skirt on a limb. There was a loud tearing sound as she landed._

_"How bad is it?" she asked Robin, worriedly._

_"I won't lie to you, Marian. It's pretty bad. I'll tell your father it was my fault."_

_"He won't accept that any more." She sighed, resigning herself to the spanking she was sure to receive. "Oh, well."_

_Robin grinned coaxingly at her. "It was worth it, though, right?"_

_Her face lit up. "It was!"_

_After sharing a smile, they turned in unison to examine the two other children. The girl was staring at Robin in awe. Marian rolled her eyes. Foolish girl...impressed by a back flip. The boy, however, was frowning. He swatted at a bee that buzzed near him, then ran a few steps, frightened it was following him._

_"If you want to get stung, that's the best way to do it," Robin advised, cockily. "You must be Martin, and you, Margaret?"_

_"We are. May we go indoors now?" Martin asked. "It's rather warm out here. And, there are bees."_

_"Isn't the sunshine glorious?" Marian asked._

_"Bit too strong for my taste. And, there are bees!"_

_Marian giggled when Robin whispered, "Spoilsport," in her ear._

_After throwing Marian a wink, Robin turned to Martin. "Well, seeing as how you're guests, but also seeing how it's Marian's birthday, I suggest we have a contest to see who decides whether we stay outdoors, or go inside."_

_"Who put you in charge?" Martin asked Robin._

_"I'm not!" he objected._

_"What sort of contest?" Margaret asked, suspiciously._

_Just then, there was a commotion. The leaves from a hedge parted, and Much stepped through it, sputtering and spitting out leaves. Waving at Marian, he called out, "Happy birthday! Oh! Who are you?"_

_"Who are _you_?" Martin asked, disgusted by the boy's ragged clothing and unkempt appearance._

_"This," Robin introduced proudly, running to the boy and pulling him forward, "is Much, my best friend. Much, this is Martin, and Margaret of Aylesbury. Well, go on, say 'hello' to Marian's guests!"_

_"Hello," Much said nervously._

_"Locksley, you sure are a bossy one," Martin sneered with jealousy. "Just because both your parents are dead and you've come into your titles, doesn't put you in charge of the entire world."_

_Marian thought it unnecessarily cruel to bring up Robin's orphaned state, and noticed a gleam of anger in Robin's eyes._

_"So, what do you feel like competing at, Martin?" Robin asked. "Archery? Wrestling? Running? Tree climbing? What?"_

_"I'm not competing at all. I've heard about you. You're sure to beat me at any sport. And as for him," he said, indicating Much, "if there were an eating competition, he looks like he could win it hands down! Look at him! His belly's bigger than his brain!"_

_"You take that back," Marian glared._

_"You have until the count of three to apologize to Much," Robin said in a commanding tone. "One-"_

_"Apologize? To him? A common serf?"_

_"Two-"_

_"You can't be serious."_

_"Three!" With a rush, Robin tackled Martin to the ground and pummeled him with his fists. The fight was over in an instant, for Martin didn't know how to fight, and Robin was...well, he was Robin._

_Marian's gown wasn't the only item of clothing ripped that morning. When Martin arose, crying, his fancy doublet sported a tear from where Robin had grabbed it._

_"You're a brute!" he cried. "A horrible, horrible brute!"_

_"Shake hands," Robin said, extending his. "Fight's over. We can be friends now, soon as you apologize to Much."_

_Martin turned, and ran crying to his carriage. His sister Margaret followed him, and soon, they were on their way back to Nottingham Castle._

"I do wonder why you bring that up, Martin," Marian said. "I really didn't think much of you that day. I'm glad you've changed."

"I was just remembering what a little beast Locksley was," Martin laughed. There! The name was out at last! Maybe now they could clear the air.

Marian didn't speak. It felt wrong to hear him mention Robin. She didn't want to discuss him, and she sat silent, unsmiling, withdrawing into herself.

"Have I misspoken?" Martin asked, noticing the change in her.

"No." She turned her face and looked at Martin bravely, sorrow marking her features.

He had never seen her sad before. "You are...uncommonly beautiful," he murmured. He could barely speak, she was so lovely.

"Kiss me," she whispered, barely audible.

Martin put his arms around her and drew her to him. Such a kiss! It was inexpressible, as beautiful as herself!

"I love you," he breathed.

Her eyes opened wide as she pulled away. Bowing her head, she hugged her arms tightly, and rocked gently, back and forth. The words! The words she had longed to hear for years and years! The right words, coming from the wrong man.

"Marian, have I offended you?"

"No. I'm sorry. I can't."

"Can't what? I thought you asked me to kiss you."

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

Martin thought he understood. So, she still carried a torch for Locksley! He realized he would need to slow down, but he didn't want to slow down too much, lest Locksley return before the prize was won and reclaim it as his own.

A dreadful thought struck Martin. What if...what if she was not a maiden? What if Locksley had despoiled her before he left for war?

That would change everything! Martin of Aylesbury refused to marry Locksley's leavings! No man would want her, if that were the case. Any man who married her would be a laughing stock among the peers of the realm.

While Marian suffered in silence, Martin pondered what he should do. He decided the best course of action would be to continue his wooing, and then, if he were fortunate and she accepted his marriage proposal, he would hire a physician to examine her to ensure that her maidenhead was still intact. If it was, the marriage could proceed with all joy. If not, he would release her.

Congratulating himself on the soundness of his plan, he turned happily back to gaze upon the image of Beauty seated beside him.


	8. Chapter 8

Sir Lawrence of Lincoln stood in the Great Hall of Nottingham Castle, intently studying the daughter of his old friend, Edward of Knighton, as she twirled gracefully in a dance with that young fool, Martin of Aylesbury.

It was Wednesday night, and the guests and residents at the castle were enjoying another evening's festivities on the week leading to Christmas. The new Sheriff, who had so abruptly ended last night's celebration, had not yet made his appearance, but would most likely arrive shortly to apologize for imbibing too much "Christmas cheer" last night. How else could the man's odd behavior be explained?

Lincoln gratefully accepted a cup of wassail from his friend Knighton.

"Thank you, Edward. Just what I need to warm my old bones! Seeing little Marian all grown up reminds me just how old we are!"

"It's good to see her enjoy herself again, after her recent illness.'

"Locksley's unexpected departure was quite a blow, wasn't it?"

Edward nodded, his lips pressed firmly together. "Well, she's bouncing back now. I was really worried about her for some time."

"Losing the one you love is hard. The fact your Marian was so affected only shows what a good heart she has. She feels things deeply, Edward. I consider that a wonderful trait."

Lawrence of Lincoln could indeed sympathize with Marian's loss of her betrothed, for he had lost his beloved wife to illness nearly two years before. They had been married for so long, and had raised five children, all grown and married, with children of their own now. Lawrence had thought he would never get over his wife's death, but tonight, watching his friend's daughter, he felt odd stirrings within him he never expected to feel again.

In fact, he had lied to Edward about feeling old. For some unexplained reason, he didn't feel old at all tonight. Watching the lovely young woman dance seemed to renew his youth!

He had known Marian her entire life. Why, he had even been present at her christening! He remembered her taking her first steps, losing her first tooth, taking her first solo horseback ride...so many memories.

She had been a wild child, running freely through Nottinghamshire with Robin of Locksley, and Lawrence and his wife had privately disapproved of Edward's negligence, letting her roam so freely. But, he had to admit, she had turned out splendidly after all.

He had been looking forward to attending her nuptials...and then, everything had changed.

Like everyone else, Lawrence had been surprised when King Richard had left for the Holy Land so soon after his Coronation, and doubly surprised when Robin of Locksley had ridden off to join him. Many approved heartily of Locksley's decision, calling him a "hero," but Sir Lawrence, a veteran of King Henry's disastrous Second Crusade, disagreed. The impetuous youth had duties and obligations at home, one of which was to Marian. They had been due to marry in a year's time, and their obvious affection for one another made Lawrence caution Edward to move up the wedding date, lest the young people chose to sample the delights of the marriage bed before the priest had time to sanction their vows.

Lawrence had even taken Locksley aside, since the youth had no father to do so, to counsel him about taking his pleasure elsewhere, until he was married.

"There are lasses who can oblige you, My lord. Not a maid, mind you...I don't approve of that. Nor a woman with a husband. But, a lonely woman with experience...a young widow from your village would be ideal. Or, if you'd rather, there are places in Nottingham where you can purchase pleasure. Just be sure to be discreet, My lord."

But Locksley had surprised him with another one of his odd radical ideas. "You're wasting your breath, Lincoln. I doubt Marian would approve of your suggestion. I can imagine how I'd feel, were she to 'take her pleasure' with someone else. I'd never do anything to hurt her."

And yet, less than two months later, he had ridden off to war, hurting Marian far more deeply than anyone had ever done.

But now, this very evening, lovely Lady Marian, a young woman ripe for the marriage bed, was walking toward him after her dance ended. Of course, that silly fool Aylesbury was following after her, like a lovesick puppy.

"Good evening, Father...Sir Lawrence," she said, smiling and breathless from the dance.

"Milady." Sir Lawrence felt his blood warm slightly. Her very presence seemed to knock thirty years off him.

The musicians were playing a slower tune...an old song from Lawrence's youth. He surprised himself when he heard his voice ask her to dance.

Sir Edward laughed aloud, pleasantly surprised at his friend's request. Marian seemed amused as well, but gracefully moved with him to join the other couples. Sir Lawrence noted with pride that Martin fumed.

"Forgive me, Marian," Lawrence began, "if I don't move as well as young Aylesbury. I fear my knees are not what they once were."

"I am honored to dance with you, Sir Lawrence. You need offer no apologies."

She really had blossomed into a captivating young woman. She was a delight to a man's senses. She needed a husband. She needed to be bedded. And not by that ignorant sissified youth, who thought more of his clothing than of her! She deserved a man of experience, a kind man who would care for her, who would prove tender and true.

He noticed she appeared pensive, as if she wanted to ask him something. "Is there something on your mind, Marian?" he asked gently.

"You can read me like a book, Sir." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "As it's so close to Christmas, I find myself curious about the Holy Land. You fought there, years ago. Do you mind telling me what it's like? Fighting in a Crusade, I mean."

So, she still cared for Locksley! Of course she did. She always would, Lincoln knew. Just as he himself would always care for his departed wife, Agnes.

But neither Locksley nor Agnes were with them tonight. It was just the two of them, in this one moment in time.

"I did indeed fight in Outremer. You must have heard of the heat...the sand...the giant spiders that swarm over a man at night. But I believe you are wondering about the Crusader's battles, am I correct?"

"You are."

He hesitated. What to tell her? She was a woman, unsuited to hear the barbarities of war.

"The Saracens are clever, especially now that they have the great general Saladin leading their armies. They effectively employ the element of surprise. They ambush, making certain to place the brutal, blinding sun in their enemy's eyes. They keep the wind at their backs, so the sand blows at the Christians, blinding them further. They fight with their backs to a river, or the mountains, so that they're protected from a rear assault."

Marian took it bravely. "What else can you tell me?"

"They use thousands of archers to first divide their enemy's lines, then charge in for the slaughter."

"Slaughter?"

He had said too much. "You need not worry about our troops, Marian. Saladin himself is no match for King Richard. Take heart from the news of last summer! After the Franks tried for two unsuccessful years to capture Acre, King Richard and his army of 900 knights arrived and took the city in less than five weeks! And, in the searing summer heat, no less! Our king is a remarkable soldier!"

"And now his troops are marching to Jerusalem."

"Reports indicate they are on their way."

"And being ambushed regularly."

"Yes, I fear they are besieged by the enemy more often than not. Have you heard the stories from Jaffa? King Richard knows no fear, leading his vastly outnumbered troops to victory after victory! Times have changed since I was a young soldier."

"Are his troops really 'vastly outnumbered?' "

The alarm in her eyes was unmistakable. "Never fear, should a Crusader die, he goes straight to Heaven, Marian. Now, I believe we've spoken enough of war and death. Let us think on happier topics."

The song concluded, much to Lincoln's disappointment. But his mind was made up. He would marry her. And soon. Before he was so old he couldn't enjoy her. Before Locksley returned...if Locksley returned.

Leading her back to her father, he saw Martin stare at him through narrowed eyes. So, the young man wasn't as big a fool as Lincoln thought. He had some discernment...he could recognize the presence of a rival.

There was a commotion at the top of the stairs, and all eyes looked up to see their new Sheriff, a falcon on his arm, looking down upon them in anger. His deputy, Sir Guy of Gisbourne hovered directly behind him.

"WHAT IS THIS?" the Sheriff bellowed. "Gisbourne! Was I dreaming, or did I not clearly explain myself last night? THERE ARE TO BE MORE MORE PARTIES THIS SEASON!"

His short little legs fairly flew down the stairs. Gisbourne followed closely behind. Vaisey ran straight to Marian's father.

"This, my friends, is what happens when blithering oafs are put in charge! Their words mean nothing, and so you, my dear, dear people, stop LISTENING! But are they in charge of you now, hmm? A clue...no. So listen well to what I say! NO MORE PARTIES THIS SEASON!"

He turned directly to Marian. "Have I made myself clear, Missy?"

"Lord Sheriff." Lawrence of Lincoln spoke up. "This fair lady has a name. I believe it is courtesy to address her properly."

"Who cares what you believe, hmm? Gisbourne! Who is this old dolt?"

Gisbourne shrugged his shoulders, a sneer on his face.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Lawrence of Lincoln. I fought beside the late King in the Holy Land."

"Well, la dee dah dee dah! Gisbourne, show this old battle axe what happens to those who defy my authority."

Before the startled eyes of all present, Guy of Gisbourne drew his sword and held it to Sir Lawrence's throat.

"Stop! This is barbaric!"

A hush fell over the crowd, as everyone wondered at the Lady Marian's boldness in speaking out.


	9. Chapter 9

"Will somebody shut this leper up?"

Leper...? Marian wondered what the new Sheriff was implying. There were no lepers here!

She felt angry and confused...outraged, to be more exact, by the behavior of the Sheriff and his big, looming black shadow, Sir Guy of Gisbourne. For almost no reason at all, Gisbourne had drawn his sword on a frail old man, Sir Lawrence of Lincoln! And no one, not one person in the Great Hall, save herself, had voiced an objection! Why hadn't her father spoken out? Why hadn't Martin?

"My Lord Sheriff," Sir Lawrence was saying, as Gisbourne's cold blade teased his throat, "forgive me. I bow down and respect your absolute authority."

"You had better," Vaisey threatened, "or next time, I won't hold Gisbourne back. Next time...what will you do to him, Gisbourne, should he defy me again, hmm?"

Guy of Gisbourne didn't use words to answer the question. Instead, he allowed his sword to slice into the old man's throat...not a deep, fatal wound...merely a shallow scratch. All the same, blood oozed from the cut, causing Lincoln to grow pale and sway dizzily.

Gisbourne withdrew his blade, sneering as he wiped it clean.

"Very good, Gisbourne!" Sheriff Vaisey ran to the top of the steps to make his next announcement.

"Let that be a warning to you all! Your one and only warning, I might add! The honeymoon is officially over, my friends! From now on, I will show no mercy! Mercy is weakness...mercy is for mothers and men in holy orders! And I ask you...do I look like anyone's mother, hmm? Do you see a man of the cloth before you? A clue...no." He stroked his bird on its head before delivering his final statement to the crowd.

"Council of Nobles meets here tomorrow. Ten o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

...

Marian and her father accompanied Sir Lawrence to his chambers, each one supporting him on either side. Once they arrived and saw him safely seated, Marian filled a bowl with water and found a clean cloth, to wash his wound. Blood was staining the collar of his shirt, and so Edward helped his friend remove it.

"No, Milady," Lawrence protested softly, as Marian gently dabbed the cloth to his throat, "you need not bother yourself. I will call a servant to do that."

"It's no bother, Sir," Marian stated firmly. "I have already begun. I am merely returning the favor from the time you washed my six-year-old skinned elbow."

Lawrence smiled weakly. He wished she could not see him at this disadvantage, yet he was strangely moved by her proximity, and her gentle touch. He renewed his desire to make her his own.

Marian's thoughts were flying as she cleaned his wound. The new Sheriff was mad, and his cohort, the fiendish Guy of Gisbourne, was worse! They were cruel and inhumane men, and they had been chosen to replace her wonderful father? What would happen to the people of the shire now?

As she carefully cleaned the wound on Sir Lawrence's neck, she couldn't help but glance at his naked torso. Old age was so cruel, she thought. It was hard to imagine that this old man had once been a Crusader, like...! Would the flesh on Robin's gorgeous chest and arms one day, too, sag loosely and be freckled with brown spots? Would the hair on his body turn salt and pepper? She shuddered to think of it.

She let her thoughts play with the memory of a shirtless Robin. Whenever the day had been hot and she had watched him practice his swordplay, he had removed his shirt, the show off. She had so enjoyed seeing that, though she would rather die than let him know how very much. And, near the end of their relationship, sometimes when they kissed, he would grow overwarm and remove his shirt then, too. It was daring, and tempting, and highly stimulating, and wonderful and romantic, as well. There had really been no harm, since they were going to marry soon, anyway. Except, of course, they didn't.

"Is something wrong, Marian?" her father asked.

"No," she replied, conquering the sadness welling up in her again, "I'm fine. I believe the wound is clean. The blood flow has stopped. Perhaps you won't mind if I go now."

"Of course not." Sir Lawrence took her hand and pressed his lips gallantly to it. "Farewell, Marian. Thank you. You are a ministering angel."

"Goodnight," she said.

...

Upon leaving the room, she was surprised to see Martin lurking in the corridor. Oh, dear! What did he want? She really wanted to be alone right now.

"What were you doing in that old man's rooms?" Martin demanded.

"Pardon?"

"I asked you what you were doing, alone with Lincoln, in his chambers."

"We weren't alone, not that it's any business of yours. For your information, my father was with us."

Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, I'm glad to hear it, because that old man has designs on you, Marian."

" 'Designs?' Don't be ridiculous!"

"It's true. You need to tell him you're mine."

Marian's eyebrows shot up. "I don't need to do anything! At least not anything you say! And... I'm not yours!"

She turned to walk away, furious at his presumption. For his part, he was dismayed by her temper. He couldn't let her go, angry at him like this. He ran after her.

"Marian! Marian! Wait!"

"What?" she said coldly, stopping to glare at him.

"I thought we had an understanding!"

"Why? Because I let you kiss me? What sort of understanding?"

"I thought...I thought we were in love!"

She breathed an impatient sigh. "Martin, we barely know one another. If I misled you, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for kissing you. It won't happen again."

"What...what do you mean it won't happen again? Marian!" He tried to grab her and kiss her into submission, but only disgraced himself in her eyes. She easily pushed him away.

"Goodnight, Martin. I think we need to talk when you can behave like a rational person. I'll see you tomorrow at the Council of Nobles. Perhaps you will have calmed down by then."

She walked away, leaving Martin alone with his agony.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning found Marian shivering behind her father's chair in the bitter cold Great Hall of Nottingham Castle, awaiting the arrival of the Sheriff, to take part in the Council of Nobles. When her father had requested a fire, he was told the new Sheriff was economizing, and no fires would be lit until he, Vaisey himself, arrived.

Marian worried about Sir Lawrence, who seemed to be shaking rather violently. He was still faint from his recent wound, and the freezing air did not help matters. She removed her own cloak and approached him, as he sat shivering in his chair. He had a greater need than she.

"Sir Lawrence? Here," she said, placing her cloak around his shoulders. "I hope you are feeling better today."

"Marian? Ah! You must not give me your cloak, milady! Please, you are cold, as well. The Sheriff will be along shortly, and we will all be warmed by a fire then. I insist, Marian. Do not make me beg, I implore you."

She patted his shoulder kindly, then covered herself in her cloak once more. She would not steal his dignity.

As she returned to her place, she noticed Martin's woeful eyes pleading with her to forgive him. She sighed in exasperation. Suddenly, she found him such a nuisance! Well, she had only herself to blame for his unwanted attentions. Herself...and Him.

It was all His fault she had kissed Martin in the first place! She realized she had wronged Martin by using him to try and forget someone else, someone thousands of miles from her, yet still invading her thoughts and affecting her behavior! She cursed Him in her heart, and vowed again to forget Him, once and for all. She would stay away from men and devote herself to the needs of the people of Nottinghamshire now. Heaven only knew how much they would need help, under the new regime!

Trumpets blared, announcing the arrival of the Sheriff. Of course, he was accompanied by his constant companion, Guy of Gisbourne. A nervous boy ran ahead with a torch, setting ablaze the fuel in the fireplaces. It wouldn't be long until the chill in the chamber was replaced by inviting warmth, in spite of the arrival of the Sheriff and his menacing shadow.

Marian raised her eyebrows in disapproval at the Sheriff's attire. No longer completely dressed in black, the Sheriff wore a ermine cap and collar! How dare he? Ermine was strictly reserved for those of royal lineage! Robin was the only man in the shire who could boast a pedigree lofty enough to wear it! But here was Vaisey, a man of unknown, questionable origin, proudly decked out in it! It was outrageous!

"Lords, ladies," the Sheriff began, "I have heard reports that some of you have expressed dissatisfaction with my calling this session of the Council of Nobles, so close to Christmas! Do you think I care what day it is? A clue...no! I do not care that tomorrow is Adam and Eve Day, the day preceeding Christmas! I do not care that you plan to tie apples onto your trees tomorrow, to celebrate! Go ahead...waste your time with your little games! Waste your apples! Just don't waste MY MONEY!"

Once again, Marian was struck by the thought that this ugly, screaming little man was thoroughly mad.

He stood and strutted from one seated noble to another, bending slightly to peer into their faces as he passed. Gisbourne remained immoveable behind the Sheriff's chair, arms folded across his chest. Only his eyes moved, taking everything in, daring anyone to make a move against the Sheriff.

"And speaking of money," the Sheriff continued, "I am saddened...no, disheartened by the sorry state of Nottingham's coffers! My friends, how do you expect to finance our King's glorious Crusade, with so little money? Haven't you heard? King Richard's troops are starving! Do we want our young heroes dropping dead from starvation? A clue...no! But don't let me convince you! I have invited a special guest here today...a noble knight just returned from serving in the King's Elite Private Guard! He is here, after risking his very life in battle upon battle, to implore you to give...so, give generously! My friends, I give you, a person you all know and love...I give you, my friends, Sir Robert, Earl of-"

Marian gasped and gripped the back of her father's chair-

"Spencer!"

Sir Robert, Earl of Spencer, strode boldly down the stairs to begin his speech. Marian tuned out his pleas for money as she attempted to quiet her pounding heart. What he said was impersonal...unspecific. But she would find a way to speak to him in private, the moment the Council was dismissed.

He had come directly from the Holy Land! He'd served in the King's Elite Private Guard, directly under Robin! He must have seen him, spoken with him, dined with him, fought alongside him! She couldn't wait for the Council to end!

As the nobility emptied their purses into the open chest on the Sheriff's table, Spencer turned and gave the Sheriff a knowing look. "What did I tell you?" he asked quietly. "People are always ready to part with their money at Christmas. It'll be harder, come February. That's when you'll really need me."

"Oh! This is good! This is good!" the Sheriff crowed, counting the money in his head as it dropped into his chest. But he didn't need anyone to raise money. All he needed were those with money, so he could take it away by any means possible. Still, it didn't hurt to forge alliances.

"Remind me again," he said, "why you're here?"

"King Richard sent me home to recover from my war wounds."

"No, no...not the 'official' reason. I want the real reason."

"Richard finally had enough. He kept having to send Locksley to pull me out of the whore houses. Too many excellent brothels in Acre, My lord. Believe me, you haven't tasted sin until you've dwelt in the brothels of Outremer."

"Yes, well, some of us like our sin a different flavor. Isn't that right, Gisbourne, hmm?"

Sir Guy only cringed in disgust.

"You don't care for the exotic women of the East?" Spencer wondered.

"That's the 'official' story."

Spencer was confused, until he noticed Marian. "Say," he said, fascinated and wetting his lips, "who is that?"

"Oh, just some leper. Now, why don't you come with me and show me your wound, hmm?"


	11. Chapter 11

Now that the Council of Nobles was dismissed, Marian waited impatiently for the Sheriff to finish speaking with the Earl of Spencer, so she could introduce herself. She sighed with frustration as Martin of Aylesbury rushed to her side.

"Marian," he began, "we must talk! I couldn't sleep at all last night, worrying about us! It's Locksley, isn't it? Everything changed, as soon as I mentioned him."

"Don't be ridiculous," Marian fumed, angry at the very mention of His name. "Why should he have anything to do with us?"

"Well, he shouldn't, but he does."

"You couldn't be more wrong! He means nothing to me."

"Then...what about me?"

Marian stared, unsmiling, at him. He certainly meant nothing to her, as well. She didn't even care that he seemed so distraught, for she thought he was behaving like a fool. On the other hand, she didn't want to hurt him. It was her fault, after all, that he felt so strongly about her. She hoped he would soon see reason.

"You're...I hope we can be friends."

"Friends? I don't want to be 'friends!' I love you!"

"Martin," she hissed, embarrassed by the stares they were garnering, "stop making a scene!" She didn't know which was worse...not hearing the words when she longed to, or hearing them when she didn't. "I'm very sorry I misled you. Now, please, can you just leave me alone?"

She almost ran to get away from him, but he followed her, directly to the Earl of Spencer.

"My lord?" she gasped. "Forgive my boldness, but I need to speak with you."

Her heartbeats were striking hard and fast in her chest. She found it an effort to speak, but forced the words out all the same.

"Milady?" Spencer looked from the breathless beauty before him to her foolish fawning companion. She was even more alluring at close range, and the preening youth who followed her was no match for him. He'd have her in his bed within a week...a month, if she was a maid.

"I am Lady Marian of Knighton. I'd like a chance to speak with you about the Holy Land, if you please."

He waited. She was obviously trying to master her emotions, but they were quite overwhelming her. So, she was a passionate one, was she? So much the better!

"I...I have a friend who's fighting with the King. I hope you know him. His name is 'Much.' He's from Locksley. Have you seen him? Do you know if he's...is he alright?"

"Never heard of him, milady, but then again, there were thousands of us. But I am acquainted with someone else from that village. Sir Robin of Locksley was my Captain. Surely you've heard of him. He's the first peer in this shire."

She simply nodded her head, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. Of course, she had been asking about Locklsey all along! Spencer was no fool when it came to women.

"That 'Much'...," Spencer continued, remembering now. "He wouldn't be Locksley's Squire, would he?"

"Squire? No...his manservant."

"Squire. Accompanies him everywhere...cleans and cares for his weapons...? Rambles on all the time, complaining? "

"Yes, that would be him. Is he alright?"

"Fine when I left him, in Acre. Complaining, as I said." He scoffed. "And easily shocked. His sensibilities were readily offended by the houses of ill repute his master pulled him to."

Marian stood stock still. She didn't think she had heard him correctly. "Houses of...?"

"Ill repute. I apologize if I've offended your ladyship. It's been awhile since I've enjoyed the company of a true lady. But yes, Acre is a most unholy city, and its brothels are well known for their...seediness."

"But, Robin wouldn't..."

"War changes a man, milady. I don't like to talk, but he was in one house or another more often than not." Pulling me out of them, he thought, until the King's army marched south, and I deserted back to them.

The color drained from Marian's face. She felt completely numb. She swayed, and Spencer reached out and pulled her to his chest, as if to steady her. He enjoyed the sensation of her body's curves against his hardened muscles.

"Here, boy," he commanded Aylesbury, "make yourself useful and bring the lady some wine."

Martin looked anxiously about him, and snapped his fingers at a servant to order wine. He didn't like Spencer, not one bit. The man might be an Earl, but he didn't exhibit the proper courtly demeanor. He was so very masculine, with his big barrel chest and his strong arms! And crude! Imagine! Speaking of indecent hovels in front of Marian! It was inexcusable! Just see how it had affected her! Then again, he was delighted that Spencer had said those horrible things about Locksley! What a stroke of luck!

When the wine was delivered, Martin and Spencer both reached for the cup. Spencer, of course, won. "I'll do the honors," he said, jeering at Martin. "Here, drink this, milady. It will revive you in no time."

"I'm quite alright," Marian objected stubbornly. "I don't need it."

A third gentleman had joined them. Sir Lawrence of Lincoln spoke very quietly to Marian. "Marian," he pleaded kindly, "it is my turn to nurse you again. And I insist, just a few drops."

"For you, then, Sir," she agreed, taking a small sip.

The wine was bitter, but it restored her. She looked at the three pair of eyes, all gazing so intently at her, and felt stifled. She couldn't breathe. She needed to get away from here.

"Excuse me," she said, freeing herself from their stares by walking away, and leaving all three confounded by her absence.

Hurrying to the stables, she requested her horse be saddled, and before long, she was riding swiftly toward the forest.

She didn't want to think! She needed to ride so hard she would purge the terrible thoughts from her mind. She welcomed the cold bitter wind as it stung her cheeks. It was a friend, hitting her in her face so hard it forced her to deal with it, rather than with the things the Earl had told her.

She led Vesper to a stream in Sherwood, frozen over with a thin layer of ice today. She leaped from her saddle and tied her horse to a tree, then carefully made her way across a log straddling the water. It was her "bridge," a favorite place of hers for contemplation.

She had difficulty crossing it today, for the weather was too cold for her to remove her shoes, and the wind whipped her with its furious gusts. She sat, inching her way across the log, until she reached its center. Once there, she merely continued sitting, her heart as cold and frozen as the stream below her.

She grew alarmed when she heard rough male voices calling out to one another through the trees. Outlaws! It was impossible to tell how close they were, since the wind might be carrying their voices from quite some distance. Still, her instincts warned her of danger, and she cursed herself for coming here without a weapon. She had better be off before they'd see her!

Why was it that men constantly seemed to torment her, when all she wanted was a moment's peace? Even when they were thousands of miles away, they couldn't leave her be!

In her haste and irritation, she grew careless, and stood too quickly. A huge gust of wind blasted her body, and she lost her balance and fell into the stream below, her weight breaking through the thin veneer of ice.

The stream was not deep, but it was frigid, and her woolen gown wrapped itself around her legs, hindering her as she tried to free herself from the frozen water. She cursed all men, even the unknown shepherds who had shorn the sheep to make the wool for her gown.

It felt good to fight the stream, her gown, and the wind. She was furious, and she almost wished she could face the outlaws. If she'd only brought a weapon, she would give them a battle they wouldn't soon forget! But she wasn't at all pleased when she saw her so called wish had come true.

"Unhand my horse!" she cried, looking up from the stream to see a man dressed in rags untying Vesper.

"Not likely."

"Don't you touch her!"

"And what are you gonna do about it, if I don't? Hey, John, come here! Looks like we caught a rich noblewoman, from the look of this horse."

"And you look like a filthy vagabond outlaw, from the look of your scurvy face!" She continued trying to make her way through the stream, but the going was extremely hazardous and rough. She had to use her body to break through the ice on top, while still managing to keep her footing. It was getting harder and harder just to move her legs, the longer she stayed under the icy water.

"Aw, heartbreakin'."

A huge burly man strode through the trees, and joined his compatriot, laughing down at her. He looked enormous, with a thick dark beard, and long matted hair. He carried a huge staff in his hands.

"Any purse?" he asked his friend.

"Probably strapped to her garter."

"Take the horse, Roy," the one named "John" said.

Marian was enraged. "You leave my horse alone!"

The men shared another loud laugh at her expense.

"Told you she was a noble. Used to givin' orders." The first man laughed down at Marian. "Don't like havin' your orders disobeyed, do you, milady?"

She couldn't answer. She needed to save her strength so she could get out of the stream, if that was the best course of action for her to take. At least it provided a shield from the outlaws. She'd heard stories of what outlaws did to women in the forest.

Just then, her gown became entangled around her legs, and she lost her footing and went completely under. When she came up, gasping and sputtering for air, the man named "Roy" was laughing, but the large hairy one lay face down on his belly at the edge of the stream, holding out his staff to her.

"Here," he said in a gruff, heavily accented voice, "take hold."

She hesitated for a moment, trying to decide which option posed the least danger. She was beginning to lose feeling in her legs, and she knew she would die if she stayed in the stream much longer.

"Grab it, now!" the man shouted.

Without thinking, she seized hold of his staff, and he lifted her easily from the water, as if she weighed no more than a feather.

Once onshore, she hesitated no longer. Still holding onto one end of the staff, she used all her strength to pull it from his hands. Before he knew what was happening, she raised it high above her head, then brought it crashing down on his. There was a sickening thud and a crack. She wasn't sure whether she had split apart the staff, or his head. But she wasn't about to wait around and find out.

The other outlaw was so surprised, he was unprepared for the punch she delivered to his jaw. He, too, dropped to the ground.

Every part of her body stung, but her spirit was proud, as she grabbed her horse by its reins. Leaping into the saddle, she rode away.

She needed to change out of her wet things, but she didn't want to go to the Castle. The closest village was Locksley. She had friends there...kindly villagers who would be more than happy to assist her. She made her way toward the Scarlet family cottage.


	12. Chapter 12

_"Straighten your lower arm, Marian! Relax! Come on, hit me lightly, until you get your form right! Once I see you've got it, you can throw me your hardest punch!...How many times do I need to tell you? You're going to break your thumb if you tuck it in like that! Keep your wrist straight...Good! Now, try some angles! That's right! Be sure to spread your legs, and use them. They're the strongest part of your body."_

Robin's voice echoed in Marian's head as she rode toward Locksley. She recalled halcyon summer days in the forest, when Robin had taught her to fight. He had been a demanding teacher, holding high expectations of her, which flattered and pleased her. And she had been an apt pupil. Today's fight with the outlaws proved it.

On such a cold bitter day as this, she felt those happy times a million years removed. They had shared such a unity of spirit and purpose, even when they'd grow annoyed with one another. He'd made the lessons so much fun, first teaching her seriously, then lightening up and joking once he was certain she'd mastered the moves. When she made mistakes from over analyzing, he'd deliberately say something cheeky to infuriate her, then she found she could do the moves after all, without thinking. Their mutual admiration for each other blossomed, as well as their enjoyment in each other's company.

She remembered how they would stop to take breaks, drinking water and talking, resting in the leaves. They would lie on their backs, looking up at the treetops, and they would joke and tease and laugh, or talk seriously about their hopes and dreams and problems. Problems, she scoffed! What a simple fool she had been! The minor matters she had regarded so weighty back then were nothing! Yet he had always listened and asked her opinions, before considering and offering his. And they had debated and argued, thoroughly enjoying themselves.

He had told her she was the only girl he had ever met who made him think, and question his opinions, leading him to develop stronger, better ones. She told him he was the only boy who ever really cared about what she thought or how she felt. And they would look deeply into each other's eyes, and resist the urge to kiss and touch, because they knew their lessons would be for squat if they started down that road. But later, in the evenings, when he would appear at her window, their kisses would be deeper and more splendid than ever.

A cold gust of wind sent a flurry of snow flying into Marian's face, forcing her back to the present. She felt empty and alone, and hopelessly sad. The Robin she had known and loved with her whole heart, the brave idealistic dreamer, was gone, not only removed by so many miles, but...gone! "War changes a man," Spencer had told her. It clearly had changed him, and she mourned the loss, as if he had died in battle. But she was near Locksley now, and perhaps a warm fire and change of clothing would help to somewhat restore her spirits.

...

"Lady Marian! Come in! Come in! Why, you're wet! Come, come, come, we need to get you dry before you catch your death! Here, put on this dress of mine. It's nothing fancy, but it's clean and warm."

Jane Scarlet was surprised to find a soaking wet Lady Marian Fitzwalter at her cottage door. Marian stepped gratefully inside, glad to be out of the wind at last.

Dan and the Scarlet boys straddled benches near the fire, hands busily engaged with wood and tools. Ten-year-old Lukie put his work aside and approached her. He was as friendly and outgoing as his big brother Will was quiet. Lukie thought Marian as pretty as a princess.

"Want to see what I'm making?"

His father stopped him. "Let her ladyship get dry first, Lukie. Once she's comfortable, you can show her your handiwork."

Marian retired to some privacy, and returned fresh and dry and feeling better.

She liked this family. In spite of Jane's gossip the other night, they were her very favorite of all of Robin's citizenry. She found them intelligent, thoughtful, and kind.

The father, Dan, was measured, and an extremely skilled carpenter, and he and his boys were ever busy building and creating things. His wife Jane was a strong hearty woman, who had buried three children, and she treasured her boys all the more. She was big hearted and outspoken, but honest, never meaning anyone harm. Lukie was cute and talkative, but it was Will whom Marian liked best.

At fifteen, Will was still in his "awkward" stage. He had recently shot up in height, and was already as tall as Robin, and likely to grow taller. He was a beautiful child, with solemn grey green eyes and dark hair. He was quiet and creative, never wasting words in idle chatter. When he did speak, Marian discerned a highly developed and curious mind. She wished he could be taught to read, for if any child deserved to be sent to University, it was Will Scarlet. But, it was not to be. His station in life would not permit it.

"Come, dear, sit here by the fire," Jane invited, handing Marian a cup of warm cider and a bowl of stew. The kindness of this loving family made Marian want to cry! She maintained her dignity, however, and mastered her tears.

"You are a brave lady, if I do say so myself," Jane continued. "It must be hard, especially this time of year, with your man so far from home. But take heart, dear! Master Robin won't let any Saracen harm him!"

"He'll shoot them all dead first!" Lukie proclaimed.

Marian gulped, and Jane drew William aside. "Looks like she needs her Christmas a few days early this year."

Nodding, Will fetched a small parcel, wrapped in clean homespun cloth. He handed it to Marian and spoke in a voice transitioning from high to low pitch.

"Here. I carved this for you."

Surprised by his generosity to her, Marian smiled thanks into the boy's shy gaze. Carefully unwrapping the gift, her heart went cold when she saw it was a wooden figure of a robin.

The bird was exquisite in its realistic attention to detail. The boy had obviously labored over it for hours.

Marian lifted her eyes to the now tentative and questioning ones of Will. She couldn't disappoint him! He had meant to be so kind!

"I will treasure it," she lied, and was rewarded when his face broke into a relieved smile.

"There, there," Jane said, in a motherly tone, "never fear, my dear. Robins always return in the spring! Just you wait and see! Someday, come springtime, you'll look up to see Master Robin return, covered in glory! Oh, won't that be a happy day for us all?"

Marian found she couldn't speak. She nodded her head, excused herself, and ventured back out into the cold, snowy afternoon.


	13. Chapter 13

A dull sun shone over Nottingham on the First Day of Christmas. Marian and her father had worshipped early Christ Masse in church, and were now feasting upon swan, goose, and venison in the castle, enjoying the warmth of the Yule Log as it burned brightly, casting its cheery warmth throughout the room.

A servant approached Marian and offered her a mince pie. She really did not care for mince pies, but it was considered "bad luck" during Christmas to refuse one. The pies were baked in oblong casings, to represent the Christ crib, and contained the three spices, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg, to represent the three gifts of the Magi. Making a wish with the first bite was supposed to guarantee the wish would come true within the year.

Taking a small bite, Marian secretly made her wish...that Robin would lose his manhood to some Saracen blade. Of course she didn't mean it, but it made her feel better. Smiling to herself, she looked up to find Martin of Aylesbury hovering over her.

"Happy Christmas, Marian...Sir Edward." He wore a magnificent crimson and gold doublet, which he hoped might prove irresistible to Marian. "I took the liberty of having that mince pie sent to your table. I ate one myself, and I hope your wish is the same as mine." He gazed at her with sheep's eyes, and Marian shuddered inside when she correctly suspected his wish concerned wedding bells.

"Sir Edward," he continued, "I wonder whether we might have a word in private."

"Of course, young man," Edward agreed.

Marian hadn't heard, for she had stopped listening. She had seen the Earl of Spencer speaking to Sir Guy of Gisbourne across the room, which reminded her that she had something important to speak to Gisbourne about. Excusing herself, she approached Gisbourne.

She didn't hear the words between the two knights, for they spoke in hushed tones.

"You'd think my wife could handle something in my absence...at least hire someone competent to oversee matters! But no! If she had any brains, she'd take them out and play with them." Spencer was angry about the status of his rents, for he felt his wife had been lax collecting money.

"Excuse me," Marian began.

Spencer bowed, then leered at her, undressing her with his eyes. She did not notice, for her attention was focused on Gisbourne.

In honor of the day, he had changed the scarf around his throat from his customary yellow to a burgundy colored one. Other than that, his clothing was the same black leather he always wore.

"Happy Christmas," she greeted formally, receiving a suspicious nod in return. "Sir Guy, I need to ask you a question."

"Yes?" he asked, noticing for the first time how thick her eyelashes were.

"Are you ready for St. Stephen's Day tomorrow in Locksley?"

He paused, confused by her question. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes. The villagers will expect to receive their 'boxes.' "

"Boxes?" he repeated.

Marian wanted to sigh. Was he so ignorant of custom that he didn't know what transpired on Boxing Day?

"You know, surely, about the 'boxes' you are to distribute. Thornton knows where the clay pots are stored. You must fill them with money, and give them to the people of Locksley tomorrow. It is tradition, and Rob...Lord Locksley was always most generous. His coffers will provide more than enough money to fill them."

"I thought it was the peasants' duty to pay their rents to the Lord of the Manor...not for the Lord to pay them."

"Well, yes, it's true that rents are due today, which brings me to another point. Robin always cancelled payments today. He felt it wrong to take money on such a Holy Day, and so, you need not bother collecting them."

"What? When did he collect their winter rents, then?"

"He didn't. He only collected rents on the other three Quarter Days of the year."

"Do you mean to tell me, his peasants only paid him three times a year?"

Marian nodded her head.

"The Sheriff will find that most interesting."

Sheriff Vaisey, hearing Gisbourne mention him, strutted over. "Find WHAT most interesting, Gisbourne, hmm?"

"This lady informs me that Locksley didn't collect his winter quarter rents."

"What?" Vaisey looked intrigued. "What is this about Locksley's rents, Missy? He didn't collect them? For how many years?"

Marian hoped she had not made a dreadful mistake in speaking to Gisbourne. "He came into his titles when he was ten, but stopped collecting winter rents when he was twelve, I believe."

"And...how old is he now?"

"He is twenty-one."

The Sheriff smiled demonically. "Well! Gisbourne! It would appear the unwashed of Locksley owe us ten years of quarter rents! See to it, Gisbourne!"

"Yes, My Lord."

Marian looked dismayed. "But, Sheriff! You cannot take their money today! Robin won't allow it!"

"In case you haven't noticed, Missy, 'Robin' isn't here. He's in the Holy Land."

"I know where he is!" she cried. "But even if he wanted rents collected, it would be his money...not yours!"

"Oh, Missy," the Sheriff said craftily, "you have a great deal to learn." He brightened. "Now, Gisbourne, as I said...see to it!" He turned and strode, whistling, from the room.

When Gisbourne had gone as well, Marian gripped Spencer's arm. He had been standing close by, listening to the entire exchange. He raised his eyesbrows in a satisfied leer at her unexpected touch.

"We must stop them!" she cried. "The people of Locksley cannot afford to pay so much rent at once! And Robin will not sanction it!"

"Of course we must stop them." He had no intention of even trying to do so.

"Can you get word to Robin?" she asked. "He will never allow this."

"It will be difficult, but leave it to me, milady." He pressed her hand to his lips, swirling his tongue over its top. She was so distraught, she did not even feel it.

Her father, accompanied by Martin, approached her, both wreathed in happy smiles.

"Marian, child," Edward said, looking as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, "I have good news for you." He could barely wait to inform her of the betrothal he had just arranged. He felt sure it would be the best Christmas gift he could ever give her.

...

Thousands of miles distant, just outside Latrun in the Holy Land, Much was unsuccessfully trying to remove every last grain of sand from his boots. He needed to stay busy, to keep his mind off the terrible things which accosted it, if he let his thoughts run rampant. Robin lay awake in his bunk, staring into the ceiling of their tent, speechless, immovable, and unapproachable. A steady winter rain was falling, dripping through the silks of their tent, making everything damp and dreary.

"Well," began Much, "this is certainly not my favorite Christmas ever! In fact, it ranks right up there as being the very worst Christmas of all time! Last year wasn't so bad...remember? We were feasting in Sicily, on our way here, and King Richard was generous with gifts."

Still, Robin did not speak. Much continued. "At least the King is safe, thanks to you! Those Saracen raiders nearly had him at Tel es-Safi the other day!" He laughed. "They ran like rabbits when you started shooting."

Robin remained still. Much kept talking. "Hmm...I could use some rabbit right now. Or chicken... Pork or beef would be nice. Or lamb. Hmm, I'd like that, very much. Remember the Christmas feasts we used to enjoy at Locksley, Master? Remember the puddings? Oh, no Humble Pie for Locksley! You always made certain everyone had plenty to eat!"

Much uttered a cry, throwing his boot at an approaching tarantula. His aim was good, but the spider didn't die...it merely crawled inside the boot. "Oh, no!" Much moaned. "Spiders! You know I hate spiders! Especially massive, hairy ones! Look at the bites on me, Robin! Look at them! They hurt!"

When Robin didn't respond, being covered in painful bites himself, Much addressed the creature hiding in his boot. "If you think you're going to take up residence inside my boot, you are sadly mistaken, you poxy hairy eight legged beast! Still," he continued, trying to look on the bright side, "you're better than a snake. When I get to Heaven, and I hope it won't be any time soon, though I highly doubt it, judging from all the dangers I face on a daily basis, do you know the first thing I'm going ask God? Do you, Master?"

Robin sighed, drawn from his distant gloomy musings at last. "No, Much. What will you ask God?"

Much smiled proudly. "I'll march straight up to Him, and I'll say, 'Lord, why did You create snakes? From where I stand, they're nothing but trouble! Look at the Garden of Eden, for instance! If it wasn't for the Serpent, we'd all still be living there, having a wonderful time!' "

Robin finally cracked a smile. "We'd be naked, you know, Much."

"WHAT?" Much was outraged. "We'd be...wha-wha-wha-WHAT?"

"Naked. Naked as the day we were born."

"Oh, no...not me! You might be naked, Robin, but I'd have more sense!"

"They didn't wear clothes in Eden, Much," Robin grinned, amused by his friend's chagrin. "You'd have to go around naked."

"I wouldn't!"

"Why not? Might be interesting. The women would have to be naked, too, you know. Why else do you think they call it 'Paradise?' "

Much shook his head in embarrassment. He had seen more than his fill of naked women recently, when he'd accompanied Robin to those revolting brothels, sent by the King to fetch out that revolting Spencer. Thank God the man had been sent home in disgrace and they didn't have to set foot in those stink holes anymore!

"Don't let them bother you, Master," he comforted, changing the subject.

"Who, Much?"

"The others. I heard them mocking you. Just because you don't...don't...doesn't make you any less of a man, Robin. In fact, it makes you more of one! Well, I don't know about that, but it's nothing for you to hang your head about."

"It's nobody's business what I choose to do or not do," Robin said.

"I know! And I thought this was supposed to be a Holy War! Please! You'd never know it, from the way most of these Crusaders act!"

Robin retreated into silence again. He agreed with Much. War was not what he had expected. He had to save more innocent Saracen women from his own men than he cared to count. He'd even had to order some of his men to visit the brothels, since it was the only way he knew to stop them from raping innocents. It sickened him.

He told himself he couldn't care less if they mocked him behind his back for his celibacy, other than the fact that it undermined his authority with them. In the heat of battle, they listened to him. They recognized his singular abilities, and respected him, knowing he was responsible for saving their lives. Still, his pride was stung. He was used to being admired by men. Much, who had spent his entire life being mocked, knew better how to dismiss their jeers.

He forced his mind to dwell on more pleasant thoughts. The Garden of Eden...naked women...Marian. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine how she must look naked. He hoped his thoughts didn't dishonor her. He pushed them aside, knowing they did nothing but enflame him, and chose to remember instead some of their happy times, such as a picnic they had once enjoyed at Hathersage Heath.

Why hadn't she married him before he left? She'd be his wife now, and if he died...they'd be united for eternity. She hadn't understood when he'd begged her to marry him. She thought he'd only wanted to know her carnally. That was part of it, of course, but mostly, he'd longed to make his vows to her!

He wondered what she was doing right now. Was she having a happy Christmas? He pictured her face, smiling at him in the firelight, as she opened the present he had given her two years before. He couldn't recall what he had given. Oh, that was right! She'd asked for silver clasps in the shape of horseshoes, and he'd had them made for her. He hoped by now she'd had them sewn onto something pretty, and that she thought of him whenever she wore it.

He wondered if she ever did think of him. He thought of her constantly. She was his first thought when he opened his eyes in the morning, and his last prayer as he drifted off to sleep at night. She was his hope, his dream, his love.

Robin could hear Much rambling on about a new subject now, complaining about the rain dripping onto his head.

"Goodnight, Much," he said. "Be sure to remain alert. I don't think the Saracens will honor our Holy Day. Expect another raid tonight."

"Oh, Master, surely not!" Much whined. "Not again! It's Christmas!"

"Goodnight, Much."

"Goodnight, Robin."

...

**(Note: Peasants paid rents on "Quarter Days"-4 times a year, and the winter day fell on December 25. The things Marian said about Dec 26, St. Stephen's Day, or Boxing Day, were also factual. The Christmas foods were also accurate. Tarantulas and snakes were menaces to the Crusaders...Acre was known for its brothels, and Richard had trouble with his soldiers visiting them. Richard barely escaped capture by a Saracen raiding party Dec 20 the year of the story in the location I mentioned. Also, he spent Christmas in the places mentioned that year and the previous year. I enjoy sneaking in facts wherever I can. Thanks for reading! Please review!) **


	14. Chapter 14

Sir Edward of Knighton was certain. It would be better to let the young man tell Marian himself, he decided...more "romantic." His lovely daughter, for all her solid good sense, was deeply romantic underneath her carefully constructed exterior, or, at least she had been concerning Robin. Thank Heaven she was over him at last!

"If you will excuse me, Marian...Aylesbury, I believe I'll go lie down. There's nothing so welcome when you get to be my age as a fine dinner, followed by a nice refreshing nap." Edward looked warmly into his daughter's eyes, before kissing her cheek. "I'll leave you two young people alone now. Mind the mistletoe!" He departed happily, chuckling at his attempt at humor, fully satisfied that he had done his duty and settled his daughter's future once and for all.

"I'll be going, as well." Marian tried to excuse herself, but Martin had other plans.

"Please...I'd like to give you your present first."

Present? Oh, dear. She hoped he hadn't spent too much money. She hadn't gotten him anything, needing to end his embarrassing declarations of "love" as soon as possible. Giving him a gift would only encourage him to continue his hopeless pursuit of her.

"You really shouldn't have gotten me anything, Martin. I don't have anything for you."

He looked dismayed. "Nothing?" Recovering himself, he said, "Oh, well. 'Tis only the First Day of Christmas. You can give me something tomorrow."

"But I won't." There! Sometimes, where men were concerned, it was kinder to be cruel. This might be just the way to get him to hate her, and leave her in peace.

"I think you'll change your mind when you see what I'm giving you today!" He handed her a small box, and Marian sighed in exasperation.

"I think you're wrong." Opening the box, she stared unhappily at a magnificent glittering ring. This was worse than she'd imagined.

"I cannot accept this."

"But you must. Your father has approved my suit! We are betrothed, Marian!" He took the box from her hand, pulled out the ring, and attempted to slip it on her finger. She yanked her hand away, refusing to let him.

"That's impossible!"

"Well, we haven't drawn up the papers yet, but once we do, all will be finalized, contingent, of course, upon whether you pass the physician's examination. I think a kiss is in order! I see mistletoe!" Grabbing her, he pulled her resisting body under some of the overhanging white berries.

"Get off me!" Marian shook herself free from his grasp and stared furiously at him. "How dare you?"

Martin was astounded. Why was she behaving so rudely? She should be delighted! The ring had cost more than he had wanted to spend. Her behavior was ungrateful and insulting!

"Marian," he frowned, "I don't like your behavior."

"I don't care."

He gasped. What was wrong with her? She probably just needed him to take a firm hand...not literally, of course. He didn't believe in hitting women, but he needed to be masterful and take control of the situation. Stop her from acting this way now, so that she would be a respectful and dutiful wife in the future. It wasn't his preferred role, but he could do it, if necessary.

"Marian, you must stop acting so unreasonable. Put the ring on, and smile prettily. Be a good girl."

She dropped her jaw and raised her eyebrows, her eyes opening wide in astonishment, as if he'd just said something offensive. What was wrong with her today, he wondered again.

"You think you can tell me what to do? I am the daughter of the Sher-the former Sheriff. You have no right. Keep your ring...I'll not wear it." She turned and began to walk away, but stopped to deliver a parting shot. "And, Aylesbury, remember this, I am not a 'girl,' but a woman." Throwing him one of her prettiest smiles, she departed.

...

She would speak to her father immediately about this travesty...inform him how wrong he was if he thought her even remotely interested in that silly Martin of Aylesbury! Her father would see reason, and this matter could be put to rest once and for all.

What had Martin said? Something about a physician? Who could tell...the man was a ridiculous ninny.

On her way to her father's chambers, she was stopped by Sir Lawrence of Lincoln. She hadn't time to stop, but she courteously bid him "Happy Christmas" as she tried to continue on her way. But Sir Lawrence was intent on speaking to her.

"Lady Marian," he began, "I just spoke with your father. I did not protest to him, but I ask you to tell me honestly...are you truly planning to wed that callow youth?"

Marian couldn't believe her father! How could he go about, arranging a marriage for her without her consent, then announcing it far and wide? "Of course I'm not going to marry him! Nothing has been decided, other than my mind! I would sooner die a maid than marry him!"

"Good." Sir Lawrence took a deep breath. "Marry me instead."

Marian was sure she hadn't heard him correctly. "Pardon?"

Sir Lawrence had not planned on springing a proposal so soon, nor so abruptly. But if Aylesbury had been so bold as to try to ask for her hand, he could not wait. He needed to strike now, or lose his opportunity forever.

"I am asking for the honor of your hand in marriage." He attempted to get down on one knee, but the dampness in the castle made his joints stiff, and it was too difficult.

Marian's startled face wounded his pride to the quick. He laughed, in an effort to salvage his dignity. When she did not join in his laughter, he grew serious again.

"Marian, I know I'm old and ugly, and you are young, and lovely as a day in summer. But I promise to be good to you. I will care for you, and you will want for nothing."

A barrage of images flashed through Marian's mind...Sir Lawrence's old sagging flesh, her serving as nurse rather than wife to a man she did not love, Robin standing on the top of a hill posed to shoot, herself cradling an infant in Locksley Manor...images of what might be or what could have been. She was overwhelmed, but knew one thing for certain...if she married Sir Lawrence, there were many things she would want and never have.

"I am sorry," she told him, "but I cannot accept. Please, let me by. I must speak with my father!"

Sir Lawrence let her pass, but vowed not to give up. "Take some time to consider my offer, my dear. You may find yourself changing your mind."

But Marian knew she would not. Knocking on her father's door, she readied herself for an argument.

...

The argument did not go well. Sir Edward had been surprised at her objections, asking her why she had behaved as one engaged, if she had no intention of marrying the man. Marian had not defended her behavior, but had simply accused her father of arranging a match without consulting her. Edward had told her she needed to obey his authority, and that she could do worse, and she had rolled her eyes and said only if she married Guy of Gisbourne.

She had to escape the smothering atmosphere in the castle. Night had fallen, and she stole toward Locksley, disguised as the Nightwatchman, to make certain the villagers would receive their clay "piggies" filled with coins when they awoke on the morrow. From how Gisbourne had behaved when she had asked him about Boxing Day, she could count on him to neglect his duty.

The village was asleep, and she secured the horse she had "borrowed" to a tree and crept quietly toward the Manor. Robin stored the clay pots in the servant's quarters, but she didn't have time to find them, find his money, fill the "piggies," and leave them at each cottage. She would be lucky if she was able to find his money and distribute it equably.

One of Gisbourne's guards was positioned by the manor's main entrance, and she took him by surprise and knocked him out, then ran up the steps to Robin's room. The thick oaken door made a dreadful creaking sound as she opened it, but caused no other disturbance. She drew back in surprise at the sight of Guy of Gisbourne sprawled asleep in Robin's bed, with a lowborn woman she had seen working in the castle sleeping beside him. It took Marian a moment to catch her breath, but she calmed herself and set to work.

Where would Robin keep his money? He was lord over vast wealth, inherited from his father and the fathers who came before him, and in spite of not collecting all the rents due him and living generously, his wealth had continued to grow. Perhaps it was because of his generosity, because the more his village prospered, the more everyone, including himself, did.

Marian lifted the lid of a beautiful carved chest, disappointed to find it contained nothing more than clothing. At least there was no black leather here. Instead, here lay the browns, greens, and golds favored by young Lord Locksley.

Knowing she should lower the lid of the chest and continue her search, Marian nonetheless lingered over what she had found. She pulled a riding glove off her hand, and ran her fingers along the threads of the garments. Her fingertips remembered their feel, along with the memory of strong young muscles that used to be underneath.

Making certain Gisbourne and his "friend" still slept, she loosened the mask covering her nose and mouth, lifted the top garment to her face, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. It held the faintest hint of his scent, and she breathed it in again and again, until she lost every last trace of his scent. Squeezing the doublet against her chest, she hugged it as tightly as she was able. A tear fell on the garment, and she hugged it tighter still.

"Sir Guy," came a masculine voice from downstairs, "you have an intruder!"

The guard must have revived! In an instant, Marian secured her scarf back in place to cover her nose and mouth, gave a quick glance at Gisbourne rising from his bed, ran to the window, and leaped to a snowbank on the ground. Her left ankle screamed in pain, but she hobbled as quickly as she could toward the horse that would carry her to safety.

She was halfway back to the castle before she realized she still held Robin's doublet in her hands.


	15. Chapter 15

The Twelve Days of Christmas passed, and winter continued its frosty ways. In the passing weeks, Nottingham was consumed with gossip concerning three separate matters, none of which Marian took any pleasure listening to.

The first concerned her betrothal to Martin of Aylesbury. In spite of Marian's protestations, her father insisted she give Martin a chance to prove himself to her. Edward was certain that Marian would soon see reason, and appreciate the match he had arranged for her. He postponed their return to Knighton Hall, just to give the two young people ample time to spend in each other's company.

As much as Marian tried to ignore Martin, she couldn't help but overhear what was being said behind their backs.

"She's certainly taken a step down from when she was promised to Lord Locksley! But then again, a living man of decent status wins out over a dead one, no matter how grand his titles or position!"

The second matter setting local tongues wagging was the treatment by Gisbourne and the Sheriff of the citizens of Locksley. Demanding to be paid ten years' worth of quarter rents, the Sheriff bullied the Locksley villagers to try their best to comply, but none of them had that kind of money lying around. The Sheriff and Gisbourne refused to accept that.

"Can't pay?" the Sheriff asked. "Well, la dee dah dee dah! Then you must sell something! And, if you still can't afford to pay me your delinquent rents, you must LOSE something! Come along now...it's pay or play! Show them your dagger, Gisbourne, hmm? That's right...sharp little curved blade...charming...very charming, Gisbourne. Now, if you don't pay me my money by tomorrow, Gisbourne here will chop off your fingers, one by one, until you find you CAN pay me after all. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

And he was true to his word. The main breadwinners in each family lost a digit or two, until the Sheriff realized they truly couldn't pay him the total amount owed in one lump sum. And so, the Sheriff, in his "mercy," came up with a schedule for peasants to pay him percentages of the amounts owed over the next few months.

The third matter fueling peoples' gossiping tongues concerned the so called "Nightwatchman," who was becoming more and more active as peoples' needs increased. "He" was seen riding forth regularly, doing everything "he" could to help, but it was never nearly enough.

...

Far away, in the Holy Land, Much was very excited. The King's troops had returned to Acre, where new recruits arrived by ship to fight alongside them.

Much had spoken to a new foot soldier from Northumberland who had passed through Nottingham on his way to Portsmouth.

"Master! You must come meet Adam, son of Ralph, from the village Lanercost! He has news from home!"

Robin ran with Much to introduce himself to Adam, as friendly and courteous as if he were meeting a knight of excellent family, rather than a humble footsoldier.

"My name is Robin of Locksley. My squire tells me you've been in Nottingham recently?"

"I passed through there on my way south, Sir."

"What can you tell us about the shire? It's been a long time since we heard anything from home. How is the Sheriff?"

Adam had seen the Sheriff of Nottingham make a speech and practically dance for joy at a public hanging, but he guarded his words. Robin of Locksley was a landed knight, and a close confidante to King Richard himself. Adam had no way of knowing Locksley's opinion of the strange, emotional, cruel little Sheriff, so Adam played it safe.

"He is well, Sir."

He saw Locksley smile, then ask, though the question appeared to take something out of him, "And his daughter?"

"His daughter? I didn't know he had a daughter, Sir."

Again, Lord Locksley seemed to have to force the words from his mouth. "The Lady Marian, of Knighton?"

Locksley looked relieved and overjoyed when Adam recognized her name. Strange to think that beautiful lady being the daughter of that ranting little devil!

"She is also well, Sir. Newly betrothed to a Michael or Mark..someone, of Aylesbury."

Locksley's face froze, except for his eyes, which completely glazed over.

His squire spoke up. "Oh, no! Surely not! Marian can't marry him! She can't marry anyone! She wouldn't...surely! Would she? I mean, she's yours, Robin. Marian would never marry that Martin! Never in a million years! Would she?"

Still Locksley remained frozen. The color on his face did not look good. After first draining away, it had risen back to his cheeks in a rush, then slowly drained away again.

Another Crusader strode towards them. Everything about him seemed larger than life, beginning with his size, his boisterous laugh, and even his name...Legrand.

"Bad news from home? Well, Robin, there's only one cure for that! You're coming with me!" He loped a giant arm over Robin's shoulders, and, taking huge strides, began leading him away.

"Wait!" Much cried. "Where are you going? Master!"

Robin still appeared to be in some state of shock. Legrand answered for him. "He just learned he lost his woman. My boys and I are gonna help him out. We're gonna get him drunk and get him laid. You can come along, if you'd like."

"You're going to...wha-wha-what?" Much's eyes opened even wider than usual.

"Ready, Robin?" Legrand asked.

Robin didn't speak. Jaw firmly set, he looked at Legrand and nodded his head vigorously. Legrand led him away, laughing his hearty laugh, while Much fretted and fumed.


	16. Chapter 16

Much's nose wrinkled in disgust as he stepped inside yet another revolting brothel in Acre, hunting for Robin. Like the other brothels he had searched tonight, this one reeked of exotic perfumes, oils, stale wine, urine, and sex. Much jumped back in alarm when he was immediately surrounded by veiled perfumed women, each pulling on his tunic and casting lurid inviting glances at him through kohl blackened eyes.

"No, no, no," Much objected, highly embarrassed, as he tried to shoo the women away. "Shoo! Shoo! You should be ashamed of yourselves! I don't want...that! I'm here looking for a man." He drew in his breath, even more embarrassed by what his words implied. "Not for that! I'm here looking for my Master! Have you seen him? He's wearing a long white tunic with a red cross...just like every other Knight Templar in the Holy Land."

Much realized how hopeless his words were. Even if these women could understand English, it was absurd to try to identify Robin by his clothing. Robin wore the exact same uniform as all the other hundreds of knights who fought for King Richard.

He yelped for joy when he heard the hearty laughter of Legrand, blasting forth from a table in a corner. Much shook the women off and scurried over to the knight.

"I knew I'd find you!" he proclaimed proudly. "Where's Robin?"

Legrand and his followers laughed again, their laughter filled with sly and naughty implications. "Sit down and have a drink with us," Legrand invited. "Robin'll be downstairs shortly, if his legs can carry him down the stairs."

Legrand's friends laughed uproariously at that remark.

"What do you mean?" Much asked anxiously.

Laughing even more loudly, Legrand passed a wineskin to Much. "He's been up there a long time! Hope he brought enough money to pay for all the services he's receiving!"

"Services? Wha-wha-wha-what do you mean?"

Again, the men laughed. One of them laughed so hard, he fell off his chair, onto the filthy, sticky floor.

"You're all drunk!" Much accused.

"But not so drunk as Robin! Hey, boys," Legrand said, "you don't think our Captain passed out up there, do you?"

"What? And miss all the fun? Not a chance, Legrand!" Robin's voice, slurred with drink, echoed down at them from the top of the stairs. Much darted to him to support his master's swaying body by holding him under his arms, and somehow helped him stumble his way to the ground floor.

Robin's grin stretched wide across his face, but his eyes were bleary, and Much recognized a dangerous gleam in them. He reeked of wine and the whore's exotic perfume, and some scented oil that Much found particularly repugnant.

"Master, you stink!" Much's nose wrinkled again.

Robin looked at his friend seriously for a moment, then burst into laughter. "See these women, Much?" he asked, when he could speak again. "See how they're covered, head to toe, by veils? Well, let me tell you a little secret. When you take them upstairs, guess what happens?" He was speaking in an obnoxiously loud whisper.

"I don't want to know!"

"The veils come off! All of them! It's true! I swear it!"

"You're coming with me back to your tent, Master. I'm taking you home, and you are going to sleep this off."

"Don't wanna go home. Marian's there, getting ready to marry that ass, Martin of Aylesbury!" He looked at Much with tragic eyes...eyes brimming over with tears.

Legrand stood, and passed the wineskin to Robin. "Have another drink," he insisted. "Remember the veils."

Robin grinned again, and tried to drink what was offered. The wine dribbled down his chin, staining the front of his Templar tunic. "Whoops!" he laughed, and the other men, excluding Much, laughed along with him. "Now, what am I gonna tell the King?"

One of Legrand's men had a suggestion. "Tell him a Saracen wounded you. Tell him it's blood, not wine. Maybe he'll give you another medal."

They acted as if that was the most funny thing they had ever heard in their lives. Then, Robin abruptly changed his mind.

"Got enough medals. Need another woman." Robin broke free of Much, and staggered over to the veiled women by the door. "Evening, ladies." He tried to bow, but fell over, and lay on the floor, laughing. "Which one of you wants to be my wife? There's been a recent vacancy. In fact, the position just opened up. Just like the lady's legs upstairs."

"Let's get him back to camp," Legrand told a shocked and embarrassed Much. "He's had enough merriment for one night." He lifted Robin and slung his body over his massive shoulders. "Don't worry, Much, this will help him through his loss, believe me."

"You are revolting! I think it's revolting what you did to Robin!"

"I didn't do anything. He did it all himself. But he'll be grateful, once he recovers from tomorrow's hangover. Be prepared, Much, he'll be sicker than a dog tomorrow."

Robin groaned aloud. "I'm sick now!"

Legrand's "boys" burst into hysterics as Robin vomited all down Legrand's back. "Dammit, Robin," Legrand cried, flinging his Captain's body to the ground.

Robin lay still for one moment, then surprised everyone by leaping up and running from the brothel. Once in the streets, he began pounding his fist on doors of houses up and down the alley. "Let me in, Aylesbury, you weasel, you snake! Come out here, and fight!"

Angry voices from within the houses swore at him in foreign tongues.

"This isn't funny anymore," Legrand said. Fearing his Captain's outrageous behavior would travel to the King, Legrand doubled up his fist and knocked Robin out.

"What are you doing?" Much cried. "You've hurt him!"

"He'll be nursing such a headache tomorrow anyway, my punching him won't make any difference. Come on, Much, let's get him back to camp and put him to bed."

"I don't see how this helps! In fact, I think it hurts him! He's going to be sick and sore and...and ashamed of himself tomorrow!"

"Sick and sore, yes. So sick and sore he won't care about losing his woman, at least not as much. And ashamed? I'm not so sure. He might be proud."

"Proud? What do you mean...'proud?' How could anyone be proud of...of...of..."

Legrand softened his language for Much's tender ears. "Of being with a woman for the first time? Oh, trust me, he'll be proud. Come on, let's go, before he wakes up and spews the rest of what's in his belly all over me again."


	17. Chapter 17

There was no doubt about it. Martin of Aylesbury found the Lady Marian a most disappointing and unsatisfactory fiance.

Granted, she was lovely to look at, even if she never smiled at him any more. But what good was mere looking? Any one could do that! After most promising kisses right before Christmas, she didn't even let him close any more. For all the attention she paid Martin, they might as well be strangers.

Her coldness had all started that snowy day during Advent, in front of the fire in Knighton Hall, after he had mentioned Locksley.

She couldn't care for the man still! He'd been gone well over a year...nearly two years! Enough was enough! Martin wanted to tell Marian so, but the one and only time he had broached the subject, her impervious flashing eyes had frightened him into silence.

Well, Locksley had lost her, and she was Martin's now. He had it in writing from her father. And, once she passed the physician's examination, Martin would insist she treat him more kindly. For starters, she could spend more time with him and less with the Earl of Spencer.

Martin could plainly see that Spencer had designs on Marian, and Martin didn't like it one bit! Didn't Spencer already have a wife? When Martin had mentioned that fact to Marian, he realized her surprised reaction betrayed she had no clue the former Crusader had a family. Spencer hastily insisted his wife was dead, but Martin had heard otherwise.

If the man wasn't so covered in muscles, Martin might be able to do something to stop their blossoming "friendship." But, he feared, he would just have to wait until the wedding, and then, he could move her far away from the lusty Earl and enjoy Marian's attentions himself. Now, if only she would cooperate with the physician! He'd see to it today.

...

Spencer's patience with Marian was also wearing thin. He'd already spent more time than he'd calculated it would take to get the Lady Marian into his bed, and he hadn't even tasted her lips yet! Still, he was certain the proud maiden would be worth the wait. It was doubly satisfying to think he would succeed where Locksley had failed! In the meantime, there were wanton women aplenty who could satisfy his needs, while he carefully set his trap to capture Knighton's daughter.

She still believed him a widower, thank God! If she discovered the truth, he'd be finished. And he didn't want to be finished, not after things were stacked so highly in his favor!

He'd come up with a brilliant scheme that seemed to be working. Since she continued to be so fascinated and smitten with Locksley, Spencer decided he would BE Locksley!

Whenever Marian sought him out to quench her curiosity about life as a Crusader under King Richard, Spencer discerned what she really sought was information about her departed former betrothed. So, he told her true stories, but exchanged his past deeds with those of Locksley. Whatever he himself had done, he passed off as Locksley's doings, and vice versa. And it was working! She was suitably impressed!

"There's so much time to fill, between battles," he told her that afternoon."When we first arrived in the Holy Land, we enjoyed training, and sharpening our skills at arms, even though we French and English were unused to the scorching desert sun. But after endlessly using those skills in actual bloody combat, the last thing a man wants to do is pick up his sword or lance again."

"Or bow?" she'd asked, eyes wide.

"Oh, well, that's a different matter! A man can have fun shooting targets for the sheer joy of it! The skill involved need have nothing to do with killing. It's sport."

She paused a moment, picturing a certain Crusader firing his bow.

"So, what else do men do to fill their hours?"

He moved closer, to emphasize his point. "Some...I won't say who, spent countless hours, and their fortunes, on brothels. Such a waste! Others simply slept, or daydreamed of home. As for myself, I visited with the other men, getting to know them, aided the wounded, and busied myself with learning the region's major language, Arabic."

"You know Arabic?" she asked, amazed.

"A little."

"How do you say-"

"-And I read their holy book, the Turk Bible."

She was definitely impressed by that. "So you could better understand what you were fighting?"

He had no clue why Locksley had picked up the book, but her question demanded an affirmation. "Yes...and it's a terrible work, filled with evil."

"Really? What does it preach?"

"Its contents are so unpleasant, I won't bother you with the details, milady."

She looked disappointed with his answer, and slightly suspicious he was lying. So, he quickly sought to distract her with one of her favorite topics.

"The wealthiest knights serving King Richard have three horses. A mighty destrier, for battle charges; a smaller palfrey, for normal riding; and a rouncey, for our squires to ride, and to carry our packs when we travel."

"So, Much has his own horse? I'm glad! I didn't like to think of him on foot during those long marches you described to me."

Much? Who was Much? Oh, yes, Locksley's idiot squire. He'd forgotten she'd said he was her friend.

"It's lucky he could ride. More men on foot than I care to count dropped dead from heat on marches."

"How dreadful!"

"Yes...heat, snakebite, disease all take their toll, but it's more glorious to die at the hand of a Saracen warrior."

She stared straight in front of her, and Spencer decided he needed to paint Locksley in a bad light again.

"Of course, you won't die in battle if you're always hiding out in some God forsaken whorehouse, like Locks-I mean, like some knights do."

"What of the King? Why doesn't he put an end to their behavior? I mean, if his highest ranking officials..."

"King Richard's far too busy to deal with those who desert. He simply strips them of their positions, and replaces them with more worthy knights."

"Are you saying that Robin's...Locksley's no longer Captain of the King's Elite Private Guard?"

"Oh. Were we talking of Locksley? But yes...he holds no rank in the army now, other than 'knight.' I'm sorry to disappoint you by letting you know your local 'hero' is no hero at all, but a disgrace to his people, his King, and his illustrious family."

Marian lowered her face, and shivered. Good! Just a few more such stories, and she'd need comforting!

"Have I told you about hunting with His Majesty? Some of us were privileged to ride out with him in small hunting parties. Myself, Leicester, two other young knights, named Lucas and Thomas, and our squires. We'd hunt deer at night, and build a fire and sleep under the stars. Being so close to the King was a true honor! But it turned ghastly one night, when a small group of Saracens attacked us while we slept. I awoke and protected His Majesty, but Lucas was kidnapped. We found his body the next day, disemboweled and hanging from one of the few trees in the area. The Saracens were trying to send us a message."

"I'm glad Much did not see that!"

"He's seen worse, milady, much worse. Is it any wonder his master turned coward and fled to the arms of the seductresses of the brothels? It is said Acre's whores are well skilled and versatile in exotic ways to pleasure a man."

"Excuse me. I have a headache." She moved to walk away, but Spencer did not mind. She would return, secretly curious about the practices of whores, and Spencer would begin to teach her private lessons.

...

**(Note: King Richard's wealthiest Crusading knights did have the three types of horses mentioned above. Also, the hunting party story is factual-of course, in this story, Spencer was not there, but Robin saved the King. The "Thomas" mentioned is Carter's brother, who will soon play a role in this story in later chapters. Pulled the hunting party scene from a BBC series called Heroes and Villains-Richard the Lionheart, in which the actor from Robin Hood who played King Richard also played him in this show, and Harry Lloyd played Lucas, the young Crusader who is killed. Thanks for reading, and I love those reviews!)**


	18. Chapter 18

Robin of Locksley, head aching and stomach churning, knelt before King Richard in the royal tent. The king had heard of Robin's misadventures last night, and had summoned his favorite soldier to appear before him.

"Robin! I want no excuses...no apologies...only assurances that it will not happen again."

"No, Your Majesty." Robin's voice was weak. He felt far too sick today to give the king any other answer...sick in body and sick in spirit. He still couldn't wrap his mind around the possibility of Marian marrying someone else, and he was ashamed of what he had done last night...ashamed of himself, ashamed of his men's hearty approval, and ashamed to have incurred his sovereign's disapproval.

Privately, Richard did not disapprove too heartily. Robin was young, and Richard was surprised it had taken him this long to experiment with the temptations constantly surrounding him. His transgression would make him a better leader than he already was, for now the men would respect him on and off the battlefield. However, the king wanted to be sure that Robin did not make a habit of such activities. It was better to give the impression of disapproval.

"Your duty is to protect me, Robin. Did you even consider what might have happened had there been a raid on our camp last night?"

"I swear to be loyal and obediant from now on, Your Majesty. I will not disappoint you again. You have my word."

The king nodded dismissal, and Robin dragged himself back to his own tent and fell into his bunk.

He lay there, miserable, thinking. It was easier to think about his own actions last night, foggy though the memories were, than to even consider Marian at this time. The news of her betrothal was too devasting to consider, so he pushed it down and buried it. But his own actions...what of them?

He had been drunk once before in his life. Not nearly so drunk as he had been last night, but obnoxiously drunk all the same. The final May Day back home, when he had watched couples pairing off and heading for the woods at dusk, and Marian had stood so lovely yet trusting beside him, he had deliberately drunk too much ale. Neither Marian nor Much had understood, and Marian had gone home in a huff, while Much had scolded him. Later that night, he had disgraced himself by appearing below Marian's window, calling for her to come out because she was beautiful. She had closed her shutters and Sir Edward had angrily escorted him off their property. The next day, when Marian arrived at Locksley to scold him, he had tried to laugh it off, but he privately vowed never to disgrace himself before her or her father again.

It had been bad, but what he had done last night was a thousand times worse. A small part of him also thought it was wonderful. He had lain with a woman! A whore, he reminded himself, who probably had done the same thing with other men immediately preceeding and following his turn. He was nothing but coin to her. If anything, she despised him. He remembered trying to speak with her, using his drunken halting Arabic, but she had not welcomed conversation. He breathed out a desperate sigh. He wouldn't even recognize her if he came across her in the marketplace. It felt all wrong.

Last night it had felt wonderful. The sensations his body had...no, he wouldn't think on it. He would need to see a priest as soon as he felt well enough to stand.

He leaned over and wretched again into the pot beside his cot. Where was Much? Uh, he was sick! There were a thousand hammers striking discordant notes between his temples!

Marian! Soon she would be married, and that fool Martin of Aylesbury would do to her body what Robin had done to the whore's. No! No! He couldn't let that happen! If only he could write to her...get word to her...tell her he loved-

He'd never told her. The thought hit him like a thunderbolt. He'd never said the words, no matter how many, many times he had wanted to. The words had been on the tip of his tongue, but something had always stopped him. What if she laughed? What if she was offended? What if she told him to stop being ridiculous...that she didn't love him back? He couldn't risk her rejection. He loved her far, far too much.

And now he had lost her, and there was nothing to do but forget. He would never marry. Locksley would pass to a cousin, or to the Crown. He would disappoint his father's memory, but still he swore, he would never marry.

He rolled over and groaned, his body smiting vengenance on him. This was penance, and he welcomed it. He groaned again, in agony. Where was Much?

...

Saffia moved cautiously through the marketplace in Acre, trying to ignore the leering glances of the Frank Crusaders. She was such a pretty young woman, she couldn't help but draw their eyes. But she hated them. They were her brother Djaq's enemies, and they had taken over this city she was visiting, this city home to her uncle's friend Bassam.

None of them realized she understood and could speak their language, and she grew disgusted at the crude remarks she heard some of them speak concerning what they would like to do to her. They also had no clue she knew how to fight nearly as well as her twin. If they knew, they wouldn't be so quick to slander her!

She paused at a market stall when she heard an anxious Englishman's voice pleading for help. "Please! I need medicine for my master! If any of you know how to relieve his suffering, please, please help me!" All the merchants ignored him, not understanding his language, nor wishing to assist an enemy.

Another Crusader, a blond young man, approached him. Saffia continued to pretend to study the rich fabrics on display in the stall, all the while listening to the Crusaders' conversation.

"Much? What's wrong with the Captain?"

"Legrand took him out last night and...and...and got him drunk!"

Thomas smiled. "I doubt Legrand forced the wine down his throat. So...what were they celebrating?"

"Not celebrating...mourning! Robin's one and only true love, the girl he's been madly in love with all his life, is getting married to someone else!"

Thomas shook his head. "That's a blow! Poor Robin! It's not uncommon, though, Much. Not many women are willing to wait for us to return. So, what he needs now is a visit to one of Acre's infamous-"

"Please! Not you, as well!"

"Come on, it'll help him forget. Not to mention improve his standing with some of the soldiers."

"The world is wrong! Men scorn others for their good behavior, and hail those who are bad! Whatever happened to your Templar vows of chivalry...honor...respect for women? Whatever happened to those?"

Thomas laughed lightly. "You're one of a kind, Much." He walked away, leaving the bewildered squire at the mercy of the Saracen vendors.

Saffia watched the hapless soldier, so desperate to help a man whom she felt could not deserve such devotion. There was something so innocent about him, so childlike and pathetic, that in spite of his being an enemy, she couldn't help but feel for him. He tore at his hair and strode back and forth, not giving up, his pleas for help ignored and laughed at. She didn't want to help any Englishman, but this one was different somehow. As the other soldier had said, this one was "one of a kind."

Adjusting a veil over her face, she quickly approached the soldier. Before she could change her mind, she purchased some medicine she knew would help ease a hangover and slipped it into his hand, whispering, "Here. A few drops will help him sleep. Tell him to drink three sips each time he awakens, until he feels no more pain. It will help."

Before Much could recover from hearing his own tongue on the lips of a Saracen woman to voice his thanks, she had gone. The surging crowd had swallowed her, and he wondered whether she was real, or some angel from the Bible. This was the Holy Land, after all! In the Bible stories, people in the Holy Land were often assisted by angels.

Well, if she were an angel, Much would most likely meet her again when he arrived in Heaven. He could thank her then! He looked forward to it. No! He didn't! He hoped God had been too busy a moment ago and had missed hearing his thought.

"Please, Lord, I don't want to die...not yet! But please let me meet the angel again one day, so I can thank her for helping my master!"

Grasping the medicine in his hand, he hurried back to the King's camp.


	19. Chapter 19

"And now, my lords, what say you to the new window tax?"

The Sheriff of Nottingham, all decked out in his ermine collar and cap, eyed the nobles left to right and back again, daring them to defy him. The Council was meeting in the Castle's Great Hall, and Vaisey had just introduced another new tax on homes...a set amount of money for every window in every dwelling, excluding the Castle, of course.

"My lord," began Sir Lawrence of Lincoln, "with all due respect, this tax makes no sense. Why should people be taxed for something they've had in their homes for years?"

"Because," the Sheriff responded, his tone poisonous and mocking, "King Richard needs funds to fight his holy war." He stood, and began to pace. "If people will not give generously to support our King's glorious Crusade, then we must TAKE their money! Our troops do not live in homes with windows. They do not enjoy fresh English breezes. This tax will make people mindful of how much they should appreciate their windows. Isn't that right, Gisbourne, hmm?"

Sir Guy of Gisbourne, standing guard behind the Sheriff's "throne," merely gave a single nod of his head and cast his threatening glare on all nobles present.

"Your home has an abundance of windows, does it not, Lincoln, hmm?" the Sheriff continued. "Perhaps that's the reason you object to my new tax, hmm?"

"I was not thinking of myself, my lord, but of those less fortunate than I. I was thinking of those who cannot-"

"Well, la dee dah dee dah! Do I care whom you were thinking of? A clue...no. You will be punished for your dissent here today. Gisbourne, see to it!"

Guy of Gisbourne drew his sword and held it once again to Lincoln's throat. "Guards," he sneered, "take this dissident to the dungeons."

There was a universal gasp, as the other Council members watched guards haul the old nobleman away. Only Marian had the courage to object.

"My lord Sheriff," she protested, "you cannot arrest a man for expressing his opinion! Sir Lawrence is old! He fought in King Henry's Second Crusade! Who, more than he, should be in favor of supporting our troops? Please, my lord! You cannot do this!"

Sheriff Vaisey approached her angrily. "I can do whatever I please, Missy! I am responsible for upholding the law in this shire! And you...YOU...must not forget it!" He turned and sat back down in his seat. "Now," he resumed slowly, "is there anyone else present who would like to voice his opinion about my new window tax?"

No one spoke.

"Good, good...very good. Shall we put it to a vote? All in favor of the window tax, say, 'Aye.' All opposed, 'Nay.' "

Marian watched in distress as every male present voted, "Aye." She was furious at their cowardice, and sadly disappointed in her father.

As soon as the Council was dismissed, she turned on him. "Why did you vote 'Aye?' Don't you have the courage to stop him?"

"There is no stopping him, Marian. You saw what he did to Sir Lawrence."

"Even so, we cannot allow him to run roughshod over Nottinghamshire! The people are overtaxed and despairing already! We must help them!"

Edward was relieved when Martin of Aylesbury approached. Perhaps he would take Marian's mind off taxes and poverty, and focus it on her wedding, where it belonged. "I'll leave you two young people alone now." He left them, to speak privately with others about Lincoln's arrest.

"Dearheart!" Martin began.

"Don't call me that! Why didn't you speak up? Don't tell me you're in favor of the new tax?"

"Of course not! Do you know how many windows my home has? I can't bear to think of my expense! Perhaps I can close some off. I wonder whether the Sheriff would accept that?"

Marian stared at him, appalled as always by his shallowness. "Don't you ever think of anyone other than yourself?"

"Marian, of course! I think of you, my dearheart! And now, I need to introduce you to someone. Marian, meet Dr. Blight. Blight, this is Lady Marian, my intended. Marian, Dr. Blight has agreed to examine you for me."

"Pardon?"

"Examine you. Conduct a complete and thorough examination, to make sure all is well."

"What do you mean?" Her voice was cold.

"I need to rest assured that I am getting all I deserve in a wife."

"All you deserve? I don't understand. I am not ill."

Her tone made Martin nervous. "I'll leave you to it, Blight," he said, hurriedly excusing himself and rushing off.

Dr. Blight turned his beady eyes on Marian. "My dear young lady," he simpered, "come with me. We must do this in private."

"Do what?" she asked suspiciously.

"Why, examine you, of course! You heard Aylesbury! Your husband-to-be is most wise hiring me, my dear. You are a lucky young woman to have caught a man so wise and thorough when it comes to his belongings. Now, come along."

Marian did not move a step. Blight was undeterred.

"My fine young lady, I repeat, you must follow me. You cannot expect me to examine you here in the Great Hall, before everyone's eyes, can you? No, indeed!"

"I repeat...I am not ill. I do not need a physician."

"You have no choice. Your intended has ordered it. I have been hired, and paid in advance, to examine your person. Do not be modest. I assure you, I am a man of Science! Whatever my eyes see, they see scientifically. Believe me, your body holds no interest for me, except as a scientific specimen."

"Why has Aylesbury hired you?"

"To ensure two things. Number One: That the specimen...that would be you...has all her proper womanly parts, thereby making her suitable to conceive, carry, and bear the male...that would be Aylesbury...heirs, hopefully of the male persuasion. Number Two: That the specimen...you again...has not diminished her value by losing her maidenhead. The physician...that would be me...must carefully probe to make certain said maidenhead is still intact."

Blight turned his beady eyes proudly on her. His curling little mustachios quivered excitedly as he anticipated his probings.

"How dare he?" Marian fumed. "This is outrageous! I refuse to submit to his 'probe!' "

She ran up the steps of the Great Hall, looking for Martin. She would have this out with him once and for all, and end this ridiculous farce of a betrothal. Just as she exited the room, she noticed that Guy of Gisbourne had been watching the entire scene. From a darkened corner of the Hall, Gisbourne had been hovering, silently eyeing her. His steely blue eyes glittered from the darkened corner of the room. Marian felt herself shudder, but shook it off, and ran to find Martin.


	20. Chapter 20

Guy of Gisbourne awoke to the sound of twittering birds. At first, he assumed spring had arrived early this year, but as consciousness fully returned, he cringed, remembering and realizing the source of the birdsong.

Vaisey, clothed in black silk, was lifting the covers off his birdcages and cooing over his feathered pets. "Hungry, my little songbirds?" he asked, travelling from cage to cage. "Daddy will see that you're fed...in a day or two!" He laughed a malicious and satisfied laugh, and turned to the bed. "Ah, Gisbourne! Awake? Get up. It's a glorious day for an execution!"

"Yes, my lord." Gisbourne flinched from soreness as he sat. Rising from the bed, he said, "I'll see that all is ready."

"See to it, Gisbourne."

...

Guy tried not to think about last night's degrading and debasing events as he strode toward the dungeons. Better to think on the imminent execution of Lincoln, and wonder whether the Sheriff might reward him with Lincoln's confiscated lands.

The Sheriff allowed him to live in Locksley, but it was not his. His own ancestral home, in his Yorkshire village of Gisbourne, was lost to him forever, due to his drunken father's mismanagement. The Church had seized the properties that should have passed to him, leaving him with nothing. If he hadn't sold his younger sister in marriage eleven years ago, when he was seventeen, he might still be destitute. That financial transaction had given him enough money to survive and live as befitted his rank, at least temporarily, but it was meeting Vaisey shortly thereafter when his future had taken shape.

Vaisey, whose background remained a mystery, was clearly a man on the rise. He had spied the young Gisbourne and had instantly taken Guy under his wing...Gisbourne sneered at the birdlike metaphor...and into his bed. Gisbourne, who had suffered every possible form of abuse by his drunken father, hated bedding with men, but endured it, falling under Vaisey's complete control. Proving a successful bodyguard who never shied away from committing Vaisey's most violent orders, Gisbourne's place as "right hand man" was secure, as was his future. As Vaisey rose to power, so did Gisbourne.

Thankfully, now that Guy was no longer a youth, Vaisey only summoned him to his bed on very rare occasions, preferring younger, prettier males, such as his new alchemist. But that didn't stop him from forcing a sporadic tumble in the sheets now and again, usually when Vaisey sought to gain tighter control over Gisbourne's life.

Passing the kitchens, Guy nearly collided with a young woman carrying a tray of meager food to a prisoner in the dungeons. "Watch where you're going!" he barked.

The woman looked up at him with startled, doe like eyes. "I'm sorry, my lord," she said, clearly frightened. Gisbourne liked the sound of her soft, pretty voice. He liked her round, gentle brown eyes, her sharp little nose, her long, soft, light brown hair, her slender willowy figure.

"What's your name?" he asked, in a breathy voice.

"Annie." She was trembling.

"You're new here."

She nodded.

Gisbourne was somehow moved. She was so fragile, he knew he could pick her up and break her in two. She was a stranger here, and frightened of him. He was new here himself, and he felt protective of her, and powerful in her presence.

"Don't let me keep you from your duties...Annie," he said, his voice deep but strangely gentle.

Hearing her name on his lips made her draw a quick little breath. "Thank you, my lord."

She began to walk away, but he followed her. They were both heading to the dungeons, after all, and he watched her from behind, shortening his steps so he would not overtake her. He could tell she felt nervous, knowing he was directly behind her, and again, her fear made him feel strong and powerful.

Entering the dungeons, Annie began walking toward Lincoln's cell. It was Gisbouorne's destination as well. He stopped her. "Do you know who I am?" he couldn't help asking.

"Of course, Sir," she stammered.

"What's my name?" he asked, with an air of superiority, as if she were a child.

"Guy of...Sir Guy of Gisbourne," she corrected herself.

He nodded his head, staring at her. He knew he could demand they go someplace private, and he could use her for his pleasure, but he did not want to take her that way. Her prettiness...her timidity...her awe of him was flattering. He liked her. He wanted her. But not that way.

"Annie," he repeated, feeling stronger each time he spoke her name, "put the tray down and go. What will transpire here is not for your ears."

"Yes, Sir." She quickly obeyed. "Goodbye, Sir," she said, bobbing a quick curtsy.

Gisbourne watched her scuttle away. His day had improved since he met her. He no longer felt degraded and base, but renewed, a person of consequence and power. And all due to a sweet faced young kitchen girl.

Focusing his mind on his duty, he turned to Lincoln's cell. "First light," he sneered. "Ready to die?"

...

Marian and her father watched in disbelief as Sir Lawrence of Lincoln was led, trembling, to the gallows. The once brave knight, Crusader, husband, and father was now reduced to a quaking mass of loose flesh and rattling bones. He was old, but afraid to die by the hangman's noose, for he was innocent of any crime.

Vaisey was in his element before the crowd of spectators. "Lords, ladies, people," he crowed,"today is a great day for Nottingham, and for England. I, Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham, shall administer Justice to you all, as is my sworn duty! This once noble Crusader you see before you, turned traitor to the Crown, shall die! Oh, do not let your hearts be moved to pity by his ancient form, no! Nor by his former glory as a Crusader! For he, of all people, should have been willing to help King Richard's troops in the Holy Land, rather than try to hinder them! For that is what he has done, my friends...try to hinder our King's troops! Strangle them...deprive them of the necessities they need to survive! By his death, we are helping our young men live! And so, say it with me, my friends, "Death to all traitors! Death to all traitors!"

Some in the crowd repeated his phrase half heartedly, but most remained silent and confused.

"Good, good...very good." Vaisey grinned and gave the signal for the drummers to play their drums. A hood was placed over Lincoln's head, as well as a noose, and the old man was assisted up onto a stool. His nervousness made him suffer a sudden bout of diarrhea, and his bowels loosened, staining his clothes and stripping him of his final dignity.

"Oh, Gisbourne!" the Sheriff smirked, "I assign you the duty to clean the gallows when this spectacle is over!" He gave the signal, and the executioner pulled the stool out from under the old man, who kicked and flailed until his body was still forever.

"A fine day's work, Gisbourne, hmm?" the Sheriff asked, smiling and skipping back into the Castle.

"Indeed, my lord." Gisbourne was thinking of the pretty kitchen wench, wondering when he would see her next.

"Marian," Edward said, his voice choked with emotion, "prepare to return to Knighton."

...

On the other side of the world, Robin was having difficulty concentrating on translating and reading the Quran, while Much chattered on and on in their tent.

Richard's troops had traveled south to Ascalon, leaving the French, under the quarrelsome Hugh of Burgundy, to remain in that fleshpot magnet, Acre. Winter wore on, with its hailstorms and flashfloods. Saladin's troops had retired to Jerusalem and the mountains, leaving Richard's army demoralised and gloomy. Nobody expressed its discontentment better than Much.

"Soggy food, Robin! And what's not soggy, is rotten! Did you taste that salt pork? Revolting! I wouldn't feed it to Saladin himself, not that I'd ever feast with him, mind you! And we thought England was wet! Please! At least at home, you can get dry. I've never worn such wet clothes over such a long period in my life, have you? I know for a fact you haven't, since I made certain you were always well dressed. And our armor...rusting! What good is rusted armor, Master? What good is it? I don't know why the king brought us to Ascalon anyway."

"To rebuilt it, Much."

"But why? I thought our objective was to capture Jerusalem! Why didn't we go there, Robin, oi?"

"Because, Much, the timing isn't right. A siege of Jerusalem now would prove fatal...with the lines to Jaffa so brittle, and Saladin's forces outnumbering us. Our lines would stretch so thin around the city's walls, Saladin's troops would cut us down."

Much didn't understand, but he trusted Robin. "Even so, I don't know why we're wasting our time here. The weather's so rotten, we haven't gotten any supplies by sea, and if the king expects us to rebuild this place on empty stomachs...does he even see what a state of disrepair it's in?"

"Which is why we are here to rebuild it. Trust me, Much, the king knows what he's doing."

Much scoffed. "Well, it would be a lot easier if it didn't rain so much."

"Last summer you couldn't stop moaning about how it never rains here."

"Last summer it didn't! Last summer, in that unrelenting heat, I could have used some rain! But oh, no! Not one drop when we needed it! Instead, it saves itself up, for one long steady downpour! When I get back home, if I get back home, I'll never complain about the rain in Locksley again!"

Robin grinned, turned a page, and furrowed his brow, trying hard to concentrate.

Much huffed. "God doesn't like you reading that, you know, Master."

"Oh, I don't know. It doesn't change my beliefs. And there's some wisdom in here, Much."

"Please!"

"No...really. Listen to this...I'm translating, of course, but listen. 'To every man there is a purpose he sets up in his life. Let yours be the doing of all good deeds.' "

There was precious silence in the tent for a moment. At last, Much spoke. " 'All good deeds.' I like that!"

Robin nodded, smiling.

"Do you think rebuilding Ascalon counts as a good deed, Master?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then I'll do it without complaining, but I still don't have to like it." Again, there was a brief silence, as Robin read quietly to himself.

"Master?" Much interrupted.

"Hmm?"

"Do you miss the serenity of home?"

Robin put the book down. "Maybe not the serenity...I don't value it as highly as you do...but the beauty...and the people, and just...home. I'm homesick, too, Much."

"Master?"

"Yes?"

"Do you ever think we'll make it home again?"

Robin was struck to his core. If Much were to die here, his blood would be on Robin's hands. Much would have never left home, if it hadn't been for him. He had thought he would be leading Much on a glorious adventure, but instead, he had led him straight into hell.

"When we get home, Much, I promise to make this up to you." He remembered being a small child, and being taught the story of John the Baptist advising giving away one cloak if you had two. He had gone straight to Much, who had little, and had given him half his clothing, and had been severly punished for it. But he'd never regretted it. An inspiration struck him now.

"Bonchurch," he said.

"What, Master?"

"You shall have Bonchurch. When we get home, I shall grant you the fields and lodge at Bonchurch."

"What?"

"You'll be a free man, Much, and a lord. You have my word. You've earned it, my friend."

Much couldn't believe his good fortune. His eyes brimmed over with tears, and for once, he was completely speechless.


	21. Chapter 21

On an early afternoon in Spring, when daffodils waved their golden heads above the newly melted snow outdoors, Martin of Aylesbury, wretched in his agony, paced the floor of Knighton Hall. Marian sat, bored and unforgiving, waiting for him to leave.

"I can't give you up! I can't! I can't! I love you, Marian."

"Really?" Her voice was calm in its disbelief.

"Of course! Whatever happened to us? Can't you remember what we once meant to each other?"

"To be frank...no. I have no memory of anything between us other than one or two pleasant evenings just before Christmas."

"They were the most perfect days of my life!"

"Is that so?"

"Why are you being so cold to me?"

"Because, Martin, you are behaving like a fool. I have no patience for your hysterics. I never loved you, you only think you love me, I never agreed to this betrothal, and I tell you I will never marry you. You would be wise to get all of that into your head, and find another lady who will appreciate your generous offer of marriage."

"But why? What have I done? You kissed me, for God's sake! And not just lightly! I mean...you _really_ kissed me!"

She sighed. "I am truly sorry for that." It had all been Robin's fault. If he were here now, watching this scene, he would be laughing, that is, if he weren't furious with jealousy.

She took the ring Martin had given her for Christmas out of its box, and pressed it into his hand.

He uttered a loud sob. "No! Don't! Keep it, please!"

"I don't want it, Martin." If she thought his feelings were sincere, she'd be sorry for him. But she guessed he believed his feelings this moment, but would be over them as soon as he found something else to entertain him.

She had absolutely no sympathy for him at all. She knew what it was to truly lose the one you love, and Martin's simulated grief offended her.

"Is it Spencer," he demanded, "or Locksley?"

"You'd better go," she replied, coldly.

He ignored her. "When you will marry me?"

She raised her eyebrows, and sarcastically answered, "But I haven't passed your physician's examination yet!"

"It's Locksley, isn't it?"

"You'd better go now," she cried, so loudly that her father came rushing into the room.

"Marian," he said meaningfully, "is everything alright?"

"Yes, Father. Lord Aylesbury was just leaving."

"I'm going!" Martin cried, but made no move to do so.

"Goodbye, Martin," Marian said purposefully.

"I'm leaving, Marian! I warn you, if I walk out your door now, I'll leave and never return!" He had made the same threat two days before, but here he was, back again.

"Please do. You've said you're going, so go."

"Marian," her father protested, "there's no excuse for rudeness!"

Martin took a deep, dramatic breath, and strode grandly out her front door. "You will never see me again." When he had finally gone, Marian breathed a sigh of relief.

"Let's hope that's the last time," she told her father.

Edward was not in agreement. "Young lady," he said firmly, "do you really want to spend the rest of your days regretting this?"

She looked at him in bewilderment.

"Aylesbury is a fine match! He's young, attractive, personable, of good family...what more do you want, young lady? No...don't bother to answer! Do you know what I found in your bed, Marian? Do you?"

She knew. She just didn't know he had found it.

She had been sleeping with Robin's green and gold doublet she had taken from Locksley, sometimes holding it in her arms, sometimes pounding it with her fists or even tearing at it with her teeth, even though she despised herself for doing so. She looked at the ground, her cheeks scarlet.

"You're wasting your life on a dreamer, Marian! A nice, well-born boy, but a dreamer! And an absent one at that! The odds are he'll never make it home, unless his remains get packed into a coffin and are sent by sea, to be buried on the hill beside his parents and infant brother. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but you need to forget him and move on."

"I have forgotten him," she lied, wishing desperately it were true.

"He's a great deal to blame for all the shire's troubles," Edward said. "He should never have gone, leaving his people at the mercy of the new Sheriff."

Marian nodded her head. "He should never have gone," she agreed sadly.

The sound of hoof beats outside their home startled them both. Edward peered out their window. "Another suitor," he said. "Please, Marian, be polite."

The Earl of Spencer leaped from his horse and waited by the front door. Due to his rank, Edward sent a servant to answer the knock.

"Good day." Spencer bowed to Edward and Marian, and then asked, "Would you mind, Sir Edward, if I borrowed your daughter for a few hours? I should like to take her out riding."

"I would be delighted." Marian answered for herself, and ran to fetch her cloak.

...

It was exhilarating to be racing on horseback through the spring air. The ground was still soft, and their horses' hoof beats splashed mud onto their clothing and faces, and into their hair, but Marian didn't mind. Robert was an excellent horseman, even if he wasn't the best company otherwise, at least in Marian's opinion. Something about him struck her as insincere, and it made her uncomfortable. And she didn't care to hear any more of his stories of a certain knight's debauchery in the Holy Land.

"Let's ride to Locksley," Marian suggested. "I want to see how the village is fairing." It had been awhile since she'd been there. Clun, Nettlestone, Knighton, and Nottingham had such great need lately, she had neglected Robin's village, believing that keeping away would help her forget its master.

When they arrived, Kate ran to her. Her father had recently died from a lingering infection he had suffered after the Sheriff had ordered Gisbourne to cut off several of his fingers. He had been like his son Matthew, as kind and soft spoken as his wife Rebecca and daughter Kate were harsh and abrasive.

"Do you have any food?" Kate demanded. "We're hungry."

"Get back, girl," Spencer ordered. "Don't bother this lady!"

"It's no bother," Marian said, jumping from Vesper's back. "I'm sorry, Kate, I didn't bring anything to eat. But here, take my purse. There's money in it."

Kate grabbed the purse and ran back to her home, slamming the door behind her.

"Ill mannered peasant," Spencer sneered, in disgust. "Why did you give her your purse?"

"Is your heart really so cold to her suffering?" Marian asked, disarmed by his attitude. At least he appeared honest, for once.

"Is it suffering, or laziness? I think she just took advantage of your good nature."

Marian was reminded of what Thornton had said about Robin, that night last winter when she had eavesdropped on him speaking to Gisbourne. Hadn't Thornton accused Robin of the same thing...being too generous and good natured, so that people took advantage of him? But that was before people's needs were so great.

"Times are becoming hard. They really are hungry."

Spencer shook his head. He was impatient, wanting to make his move on her, and it was beginning to show. Planning to return to his wife and children shortly, he didn't want to go until he had bedded Marian, but was no closer than he had been months ago. It made him angry.

Marian heard Luke Scarlet crying, and ran to him.

"Lukie! What's wrong?"

The boy looked up at her. He was squatting on the ground, trying to whittle with his knife, but had cut his finger.

Marian suspected there was more to his tears than simply his wound, but first things first.

"Oh, here," she said, turning away to lift the hem of her gown. She borrowed Luke's knife to cut a small strip of fabric from her freshly laundered linen underskirt to use as a bandage for his cut.

"Where's your mother?" she asked, washing the cut before wrapping it.

"Here I be," Jane mumbled, in a quiet voice. As she approached her younger son, she stumbled. Marian moved quickly to grab her arm and steady her, and was alarmed to feel how thin the arm under Jane's homespun gown was.

"Jane!" she cried, "have you been ill?"

"Ill? No, milady."

"Then, why are you so...?"

Marian had been about to say "thin" or "weak," but a look of fierce pride in Jane's eyes silenced her.

"What is happening to this village? Isn't Gisbourne caring for you?"

Jane merely gave Marian a weary look, then helped Luke inside their cottage, and shut her door. Before it closed, Marian caught a brief glimpse of Will's face. He had changed. The intent, pleasant expression he used to wear was replaced by a look of intense anger and suspicion.

"This is like some sort of nightmare!" Marian cried. "Everyone's shut up inside? On such a beautiful spring day? I don't understand! I will speak to Guy of Gisbourne and find out what he has done to Locksley! This has to stop!"

Spencer sighed. He suspected his wooing wouldn't yield any results today, and he was sick and tired of playing the do-gooder and still not getting anywhere with Marian. "Let's ride back to Knighton," he suggested. Since she was so generous with peasants, he decided she could be generous with him. He'd throw caution to the wind and make a bold move on her, once he got her home. He should have done it weeks ago.

Marian wasn't listening. She was planning how the Nightwatchman could get food parcels to Locksley tonight.


	22. Chapter 22

King Richard's troops in the Holy Land continued to grumble through the unrelenting rains of winter and spring. For four long months, they trudged back and forth through the mud between Acre and Ascalon, fighting no proper battles, but only skirmishing with raiding parties, or going on small raiding parties themselves. Most of their time was spent depressingly rebuilding the fortress at Ascalon, which would eventually make it the strongest fortress on the coast.

Nearly all of them had joined the Crusade to free Jerusalem, and they could not understand why their king would not lead them there to conquer it. Every time they had faced Saladin's army, they had overwhelmingly defeated it. Hugh, Duke of Burgundy, was in favor of leading the French troops to Jerusalem, and had quarrelled with Richard over it. Why was the Lionheart stalling? Some of the men, like Thomas, complained the English king only wanted to draw this out, for as many years as possible. But Robin knew better.

Robin understood they wouldn't stand a chance conquering Jerusalem just yet, with Saladin's troops safely lodged behind its impenetrable walls, and the wells outside its borders poisoned, cutting off the precious water supply. And, if by some miracle or twist of Fate they did manage to win the Holy City, there were not nearly enough Christians willing to settle there. The moment the Crusaders left for home, the Saracens would recapture it, and all the lost lives would count for nothing. Still, the mood in Richard's army was one of total dejection.

One day in April, when the sun reappeared at last, instantly bringing with it the unforgiving dry, searing heat, Robin led a group of twenty men on a foraging party. Afterwards, on their way back to camp, Robin gloated about the success of their mission, for they had gathered food and recovered several horses that had been stolen from their ranks, without losing a single man, all due to his clever plans. If it were possible to swagger on horseback, Robin was swaggering. But a few of the men accompanying him were disappointed. Thomas, in particular, had been itching for a fight, and didn't approve of his leader's unusual, though undeniably clever, tactics.

As they approached the village Ibn-Ibrak, Thomas reined his horse.

"Captain, just think what we can bring back from here! We can ride into that village, and help ourselves!"

"No," Robin commanded. "We do not steal from innocent civilians."

"They're not innocent! Look at those men! Irregulars in Saladin's pay...expert horse stealers and murderers!"

Robin's eyes squinted through the blinding sun. Thomas was right. He recognized several of the men as frequent ambushers, definite thorns in their sides, who had stolen from and killed Crusaders. Still, it wasn't right to attack them in their village, with women and children close by. Better to lure them out and battle them away from their homes.

"Right," Robin said. "I've got a plan. First, I need numbers. How many-"

"Let's go in! What are we waiting for?" Thomas was impatient to use his fighting skills again.

"We can't just go charging in! It's foolhardy, not to mention dangerous!"

"Then why don't you shoot them from here? You can hit anything!"

"Which is exactly why I won't do it. We're knights...not assassins! We don't kill unarmed men, unless the king commands it." He felt a returning wave of guilt from the massacre at Acre.

"Come on!" Thomas called, spurring his horse and charging toward the village.

The others looked to Robin. He was furious, but had no choice but to follow Thomas.

The Crusaders had no idea they were so vastly outmanned. As Thomas had said, the village was filled with Saladin's "irregulars," men not officially in the army, yet trained to fight and kill, for a profit. Screaming their high pitched Saracen war cries, scores of them appeared out of nowhere, hacking down the invading Crusaders. Morgan Foster was the first to die. Matthew Kent lasted him by a matter of minutes.

"Much, get word to the King," Robin ordered.

"Master, I won't leave you!"

"Go...NOW!"

The fight raged on, with slayings and woundings on both sides. When all hope seemed lost, Much returned with King Richard himself, who appeared on horseback like a thunderbolt, galloping right in amongst the Saracens, piercing their ranks, trapping and pursuing them, hewing off hands and arms and heads. The villagers who remained alive fled like beasts, and the battle ended as suddenly as it had begun.

Robin, panting heavily and dropping to one knee to utter a hasty prayer, looked around him at the bodies and body parts strewn over the ground. Much was alive and in one piece...for that he was thankful. Seeing Thomas lying prone, bleeding heavily and gasping for air, Robin ran to him, dropped to his knees, and supported his body in his arms.

"Robin," Thomas gasped weakly. "I'm sorry."

"Shh. Save your breath."

The dying Crusader began to cry. "My family...my little brother! Don't let them know! They think...they think I'm a hero."

Robin held him tighter as tears poured down Thomas' face.

"Tell my family I didn't cry. Tell them...tell them...I was laughing on the wrong side of my face." He took one final breath, and relaxed in Robin's arms.

...

When the stretcher bearers eased Thomas' body onto a stretcher, King Richard approached Robin, wiping splattered blood from his face.

"Robin, what happened here?"

Robin did not hesitate. "I led the charge into the village, Sire."

"Robin! I thought you, of all people, had better sense! The deaths of these men are on your head." The king was so angry, he couldn't say another word. He turned and strode away. He would deal with Locksley later.

"Excuse me, Captain." One of the stretcher bearers wanted the events clarified. "That's not what happened here today. Why did you lie to His Majesty?"

Much ran forward to stand by his master. Robin looked the stretcher bearer in the eye. "If anyone asks, tell the story I told the king. For Thomas. For his brother."

The stretcher bearer nodded and bowed, moved to tears by today's events and the young Captain's selfless nobility.

"But, Master," Much objected, "you made the king angry!"

"Thomas' brother lost him today. Let him at least keep his ideals, and his image."

"But, Robin...the king!"

"Nothing ill will come of this, Much. Trust me."

Much shook his head. "Alright, I will...but don't come crying to me, when you find yourself in trouble."

...

That night, Robin stood alone in the desert, looking up into the heavens and longing for Marian, as he did every evening he had the chance.

Years before, when he had to leave Marian to go to London, he'd asked her to look up at the night sky at a certain time, when he would be looking up, too, so he wouldn't feel so far from her. But there were no bells here to tell him the time of day, so he could only approximate the time. Not only that, the sky was different here...there were some of the same constellations, but they weren't in the same places they'd been when he'd viewed them in England, and there were entirely new ones, as well. And, who knew what time of day it was in England when it was early nightfall in Outremer?

"Alright then," he said, as if he were speaking directly to her, enjoying one of their debates, "what should I have done?"

He sighed in his loneliness, and his longing. He wished he could hear her answer...hear her advice or approval or even listen to a tongue lashing concerning the lie he had told their king. But he couldn't even feel the faintest whisper of her presence.

The moon! He could look up at the moon...it shone over the entire world!

"Marian," he breathed, gazing up at the moon's silvery white light. "Please...please be looking at the moon right now! Think of me, please! You don't want to marry that fool, Aylesbury, I know you can't!" Even now, alone in the desert, he couldn't bring himself to speak aloud the words he so wanted to tell her, but his mind thought them fiercely. "I love you, Marian. I love you," he thought, gazing up at the moon, willing her to feel his love over the thousands of miles that separated them.

He sighed again, to return to Much in their tent, and to his dreams of home and the woman he loved.

**(Note: The details in this chapter, except for the characters from Robin Hood, are actual historical fact. I thought the raid on the village matched well with Carter's brother's story. Hope you enjoyed! Please review-it keeps me motivated to write!)**


	23. Chapter 23

Roger of Stoke, 24-year-old heir to Edmund, Baron Stafford, rode toward Nottingham Castle with his manservant Bartholomew, on an errand for his friend, Robin of Locksley.

Roger had arrived from the Holy Land with sad news of one of Staffordshire's citizens, and had broken the news of the knight's death to the father and mother. The younger brother, Carter, could not be told, since he had recently joined the Knights Templar, and was enroute to the Holy Land himself. Carter would have to learn of his brother Thomas' death from other sources.

But the missive concerning the death of Thomas was not the only parchment Roger brought with him from the Holy Land. Robin of Locksley had sent another letter at the same time, a letter directed to his former betrothed, Lady Marian of Knighton, and Roger was travelling to Nottingham now to deliver it personally into her hands, before returning to rejoin King Richard's troops in Outremer.

Roger had never met the Lady Marian, but he had heard all about her from Robin years ago, whenever they met at King Henry's Court in London. Robin had been so clearly in love, and had described Marian with so much adoration, that Roger often wished he had his own "Marian." But he did not. His father had betrothed him to a wealthy woman he could not abide, and he had so far managed to postpone his marriage. Distancing himself from her by thousands of miles clearly helped delay the wedding.

When at last the bleak towers of a castle appeared in view, Roger addressed his servant.

"Nottingham," he stated. "Within those walls dwells a veritable Helen, according to Locksley. It won't be difficult to find her, if my friend's descriptions are to be believed."

"Sire?"

"Just look for the dark haired, blue eyed maiden whose face could launch a thousand ships!" Roger joked.

His friend Robin was such a romantic dreamer, though he tried to keep it well hidden. Once, over several late night goblets of wine, he had let a comparison to Helen of Troy's beauty slip from his lips.

"No, in all seriousness, we'll find her easily enough. She's the Sheriff's daughter."

Bartholomew nodded his head in relief. His master's talk of "Helen" and ships confused him. He thought the lady's name was supposed to be "Marian."

...

It would be harder to find Marian than Roger believed, for she was not in the Castle, but on her knees in the grass outside Knighton Hall, happily tending her herb garden. It felt good to smell the earth and pull the weeds that seemed to have sprung up overnight. She smiled to herself as she cleared her garden of the foul plants, comparing them to her pesky suitors.

"Goodbye, Aylesbury," she thought, pulling up the small, flowery weeds with the flimsey roots.

Martin had thrown her over at last, and was already betrothed to a more appreciative lady, much to Sir Edward's chagrin. Marian didn't care much that Martin was busy now besmirching her name, gossiping to anyone who would listen about how brazen she had been kissing him. His brother-in-law, Lord Lothbourough, backed him up as to her waywardness.

"And goodbye, Spencer," she groaned aloud, as she tugged on a stronger, heartier plant with a deep, thick root.

The Earl of Spencer had been easier to dismiss than the weed she identified with him. Back in early Spring, on their return journey home from Locksley one day, he had surprised and infuriated her by grabbing and malling her. One hand had gripped her buttocks, another her breast, and he had dared to shove his huge vile tongue down her throat!

Thank Heaven she had learned to fight! Just as he had taken her by surprise, her fight moves took him completely off his guard. She couldn't beat him in a fight...he was far too strong, but she had hurt him and thrown him off her, so that she could get away, and order him never to show his face in her presence again.

And now, although oftentimes bored and lonely, she was at least peacefully free of any male suitors. And since she and her father were now lodged at Knighton Hall, she was free at last from the unwelcome sinister stares of Sir Guy of Gisbourne's unblinking eyes, which had begun assaulting her with ever increasing frequency when she had been living in the castle.

...

"But, sir," a trembling Annie told Guy of Gisbourne, on the steps to the Castle kitchens, "I don't know what to say! You have position...and power. You...you use your sword to...to..."

"To carry out the Sheriff's plans," Gisbourne whispered, leaning closer to Annie's frightened face. "I only do my duty, Annie. You can't begin to understand the wrongdoing here in Nottingham. The Sheriff administers justice, and I carry it out."

"With your sword?" she asked timidly.

"My duty, as I said. But, Annie," and he paused meaningfully, "there is another side to me...a side I cannot show."

She swallowed, and gazed up into his face. His breath scorched her cheeks...her neck. His proximity was making her swoon.

Another side? Of course, there had to be! He wasn't only the brutal, dangerous killer everyone saw...he had another side...a tender, loving side, deeply hidden from the world, as he had just confessed to her!

He only needed the love of a good woman to bring it out! Could it be that she, little insignificant Annie, was that woman? He seemed to think so!

His lips were so close, she couldn't stand it! Together, they closed the half inch gap separating them, and melted together in a searing, burning kiss.

He lifted her surrendering body and carried it back down the stairs to the kitchen, and ravished her repeatedly on the table where she had hours before been innocently slicing turnips. She was a virgin, and he seemed to derive pleasure from her pain. She willingly accepted that pain, as part of her sacrifice to this powerful man she loved, this man with a private side he would show to no one but herself.


	24. Chapter 24

Roger of Stoke and his servant Bartholomew rode toward Knighton Hall, determined to deliver Robin of Locksley's private letter to his beloved, Lady Marian.

Roger had been nonplussed when he arrived at Nottingham Castle and had learned that Sir Edward of Knighton had been replaced as Sheriff by a strange, ignoble, black-clad little bird fancier with a bald head and poison tongue. Not wishing to linger amongst such peculiar company as the new Sheriff and his tall, sinister lieutenant, Sir Guy of Gisbourne, Roger and Bartholomew asked for directions and quickly rode away.

Reaching Knighton, they left their horses with the young stable boy Daniel, and knocked on the house's front door.

Sir Edward himself answered their knock, which was unusual. He hastily invited them inside, exchanged introductions, excused Bartholomew to the kitchen to get something to eat, and apologized to Roger for the casual condition of his home.

"Forgive me, we are short of servants these days. My house is watched by the Sheriff's spies, and most of my household have left, not wishing to affiliate themselves with 'an enemy of the State.' Only those most loyal have remained in my service."

"I am sorry to hear that. You think this is Prince John's doing?"

"I do not know. I only know the Prince replaced me with Sheriff Vaisey, and seems to approve of the condition of the shire under his leadership. Ahh! Here comes my daughter Marian now."

Roger stood, as a fresh faced young woman entered the house. She seemed to bring the outdoors in with her, with her shining eyes, windswept hair, and rosy cheeks.

Roger quickly drew in his breath. So, this was Robin's famed lady! He mastered his unexpected emotions, and politely introduced himself.

Meeting her in the flesh forced him to realize one surprising thing...he felt himself in love with her. Ridiculous as it sounded, he was in love!

Roger realized that, having digested Robin's outpourings of love for her over the years, he had empathised so greatly with his friend's feelings that he had taken them on himself, to a lesser degree, of course. It was wrong. It was madness. It was wonderful.

For her part, Marian approved of the visitor. She thought him handsome, with his closely cropped dark hair, and his skin bronzed golden brown by the desert sun. He struck her as polite and sincere, unlike that crude Spencer, who had also come from the Holy Land, yet confident and brave, almost like...

"Milady, I bring you a message from Robin of Locksley."

Silence filled the room, a silence so thick, Roger hesitated to breathe.

He pulled forth the folded parchment, fixed with Locksley's seal, and handed it to Marian. She stood holding it, eyes widening at the sight of her name written in the familiar script, hands trembling violently.

"Well, Marian, this is a surprise," her father said, somewhat uncomfortably. "Perhaps you'd prefer to read it alone."

As if in a dream, Marian's head gave a barely perceptible nod, and her feet carried her slowly up the stairs to her room. Closing the door behind her, she steadied herself, then tore open the seal to read her true love's words.

...

_"Marian," _

The letter began abruptly. Why just "Marian?" Whenever he had written to her in the past, he had always begun with, "My dearest Marian." Only one word into the letter, and she was already confused and disappointed. She sniffed, and continued reading.

_"I hope you and your father are well. I trust your birthday was pleasant. I'm sorry I wasn't there to see you get your birthday swats. I'm sure you did plenty to deserve them this year."_

What, in the name of all things holy, was this? Did he think her nine, rather than nineteen? This was outrageous...unbelievable.

_"Much and I are well, and I hope you do not mind I write to you, and relay our latest adventure."_

"Oh, of course not, Robin," she spat out loud, angrily. "Do tell me your grand escapades of derring do!" She turned her furious eyes back to the letter.

_"I don't know whether you heard about the medal King Richard awarded me after the Battle of Acre. Seeing how it looked rather lonely on my chest, and being the tender hearted soldier I am, I decided to risk my neck to provide it some company. I now proudly sport two medals, and if the Saracens don't surrender soon, I'm sure my medals will reproduce like rabbits. (Forgive me, lady, if I have offended)."_

"Oh, believe me...you have!" she huffed.

_"The events leading up to my receiving my second medal are as follows: Saladin, underestimating my marksmanship, launched a surprise attack on Jaffa, hoping to win back much of what he had lost since Arsuf. (I hope you are acquainted with the names of these battles. If not, you ought to be)."_

"You've got some nerve, Robin!" Marian scolded, enraged.

_"I was with the King in Acre when Saladin's trebuchets began bombarding Jaffa with heavy stones and poisonous snakes, knocking down the city's walls and disheartening the French soldiers inside. His unrelenting assault worked, I am sorry to say. The Saracens broke through the walls, plundered the city, and took as many prisoners as they could. All seemed lost for the French. But Saracen memories are short, Marian...something about a lack of pork in their diet and too much time spent in the sun! They had forgotten all about me, and what a force I was at Acre!" _

"What?"

_"King Richard received word of the battle, and we set off down the coast in fifteen galleys. Due to contrary winds outside Mt. Carmel, only seven ships reached shore, and we thought we were too late to save our fellow Crusaders. But a brave and noble friend of mine who was inside Jaffa's walls, a warrior priest named William De Conti, dove from the citadel's battlements, swam to the royal galley, (the one I sailed on, of course)..."_

"Of course, you insolent braggart," she remarked.

_"...and explained the situation. It seems some fainthearts in the garrison paid the Saracens ransom money, thinking they could buy their freedom, but, upon leaving, were immediately seized and beheaded."_

She cringed. That he, always so courteous in the past, unless he was being deliberately cheeky, could write of beheadings so flippantly, shocked her. Nevertheless, she continued reading, caught up in the drama of his story.

_"The King would not let that rest! I followed him to shore...and together, the two of us led only eighty knights and a handful of infantry, yet in a remarkably short time, we secured a beachhead, due mostly to my accurate fire. After that, we advanced into Jaffa. It was much easier than Acre, believe me, for it took us five weeks to score that victory, yet Jaffa fell to us in a matter of hours._

_"Much was very brave. You wouldn't recognize him. He's fit and an excellent swordsman now. Would you ever have guessed it?"_

"No, I wouldn't," she answered aloud. "And I wouldn't have guessed you would waste precious vellum to write to me only to brag on yourself, and feed me facts as if you were a detached correspondent, instead of a...a..."

She broke down and began to sob. But she hated her weakness, and conquered it. She would see this through, and read his final words, scribbled on the very bottom of the vellum, and edging up the side of the page, for he had run out of space.

_"I wish you well on your betrothal, though I must tell you, the news did surprise me, Marian. And if you have already said your vows, then, I wish you well on your marriage. _

_Robin of Locksley"_

The letter ended as abruptly and unsatisfactorially as it had begun.

Marian sat alone in her room, holding the parchment in her hands, feeling nothing but numbness, until the sun began to set, and Sarah came in to light her candles. Only then, did she awaken from her stupor.

Silently, alone once more, she crumpled the letter in her hands, then picked up Robin's doublet from her bed, and hurled it from her window, into the night.

...

**(Note: Once again, the battle description follows actual facts. Robin omitted the gruesome details of the charge into Jaffa. There actually was a priest who dove from the citadel and swam to Richard's ship, but I used a fictional character, William De Conti, who appeared in my story Into the Fall. Thanks for reading. Please review, but be kind to Robin-he wanted to write a love letter, but didn't feel he had the right, foolish boy! He's hiding his true feelings behind his bravado.)**


	25. Chapter 25

Robin stood on the prow of the royal galley as it sailed southward from the Port of Acre toward Darum. This last stronghold of the Saracens along the coast lay far to the south, and King Richard knew its conquest would put strategic pressure on Saladin, as well as further menace the trade routes between Syria and Egypt, depriving the Saracens of needed supplies. It promised to be another gruesome battle.

He blessedly had a moment to himself, for Much was occupied arguing with another soldier about his right to wax poetic about strawberries and cream, leaving Robin a rare opportunity alone with his thoughts.

Glancing over his shoulder to make certain no one was watching, he reached inside his tunic and pulled out a letter he had written a few days prior to Roger of Stoke's departure from the Holy Land. This was the letter he would have sent with Roger, if he thought he had the right. This was the letter revealing his true heart and mind, the letter baring his soul wide open. This was the letter he would read to himself one final time, because when he read it, he felt he was speaking directly to Her, telling her the things he would if he only had the courage.

Taking a deep breath, he pictured her lovely face, and began to read what he longed to be able to tell her.

_"My dearest Marian,_

_How are you? Every part of me wishes I could know how you are...what you're doing and thinking and dreaming. When I told you I was leaving to fight for the King and we angrily parted, I had no earthly idea how greatly I would miss you. It feels as if part of me has died, Marian. Not that exactly...I don't know how to describe it, other than to tell you there is a tremendous hole in my heart. _

_I only pray that my leaving did not bring you the same sense of grief and loss. If it did, I am truly sorry._

_I want you to know you are constantly in my thoughts and prayers. You are the finest, bravest person I know, my very best friend, and so much more besides. You, Marian, are my love, my only love, more precious and beautiful to me than life sustaining water. All my hopes and dreams of home center around you._

_I wish we were together walking slowly through the sunshine and the crowd from church, greeting my people, your warm little hand clasped in mine. Or sitting side by side on our bridge, trees waving overhead, splashing each other with our toes skimming the water's surface, laughing till our sides ache. Or riding breathlessly through the forest on one horse, forging our own path through dappled greenery, your body against my back, the rhythm of the horse moving us as one. Or sitting by the fireside at Knighton, silently watching the embers die out, with you on my lap, your cheek pressed into my shoulder, my arms wrapped tightly around you, wishing it weren't time for me to go. _

_Have I truly lost you to another man? It is no more than I deserve for leaving you as I did. I have no right to ask this of you after what I have done, but if you are not already wed, I beg you to consider your heart, and see if I still hold a place within it. If I do, then please wait for me. It is selfish, for I may not come home at all, but Marian, how can I go on without you? Home won't be home without you there as my love, my bride, my wife! If I've lost you, I've lost everything._

_Forgive me, my love, for all the wrongs I have done you. I count his letter among them, which is why I cannot send it._

_Nonetheless, I remain yours...yours...forever yours,_

_Robin_

Closing his eyes to the blinding glare of the unforgiving sun, he held the letter out over the waves, and released it to the wind and the sea, so that his words could be lost forever.


	26. Chapter 26

Marian was enjoying riding Vesper through Sherwood Forest, accompanied by Roger of Stoke astride his horse Winddodger. She hadn't been in the forest since that bleak day last winter when she had fallen into the stream, and had to escape two vicious outlaws. She had really missed being here.

She hadn't stayed away from Sherwood because she was afraid...only cautious. She didn't want to meet those two filthy foul mouthed outlaws ever again, and counted herself lucky she had escaped them once. But she wasn't about to tempt Fate and venture into these woods again alone.

Now that she was here with Roger, however, she found everything as pleasant as she remembered, and she chided herself for having ever stayed away. She'd missed an entire Spring, and most of the Summer! She vowed never to let outlaws control her life again.

She liked Roger of Stoke. In fact, she liked him very much. He was polite and well bred, intelligent, and brave. Although he was strong, he was quite thin. "Crusader's diet," he apologized, explaining that all King Richard's soldiers were nothing but flesh and bone and sinew now.

Marian tried to picture Much and Robin as thin and tan as Roger, but it was difficult. She particularly struggled visualizing a skinny Much, since Robin had always been thin, but Much had grown chubby on the food from Robin's kitchen.

She pushed away those thoughts, and refocused her attention on Roger. He spoke and moved with a manly confidence that attracted her. His bronzed skin stretched tautly over his facial bones, making everything appear sharper than it should, but his eyes were intelligent and kind, and he had a ready smile. And dimples, Marian noted with satisfaction.

It was obvious he liked her as well, and treated her with the utmost respect and an easy courtesy she liked. He was wise rather than clever, and if he didn't make her laugh, well, he never infuriated her, either. His presence incited no sparks as of yet, but she wouldn't be adverse if he tried to light a fire.

She hadn't felt any sparks since that day she had suffered from a dreadful headcold, when she had bid Robin goodbye. She often gloated how she must have passed her cold onto him, and she hoped it had made him miserable on his journey to the Holy Land. Every time he had sneezed, or coughed, or blew his nose, he would have had her to thank. She shook her head, banishing him from her thoughts once more.

As for Roger, his infatuation for Marian persisted. He justified his attentions to her by reminding himself that his friend Robin would be pleased she was being entertained and amused while he was gone. And, if Roger delayed his departure and neglected his own home while in England, it was only because he wanted to get to know his friend's beloved better. Or so he told himself.

After a gallop through the meadow, they slowed their horses to a steady pace, and Marian suggested they water them at the stream under her "bridge," for it was her very favorite place in the forest. Arriving at the stream, however, she uttered a loud cry.

"It's gone!"

"What's gone?" Roger asked, swatting at a dragonfly.

"Our bridge! A log stretched across these two banks...for years! It's gone!"

She immediately suspected the huge, hairy outlaw named "John" of having committed some mischief.

Roger examined the water's edge. "The ground's worn away. Your log most likely fell into the stream, after years of the mud on the banks eroding. You're lucky it lasted so long, and that it didn't give way sometime when you were crossing it."

Marian turned away, fighting back angry, frustrated tears. Another link to her treasured past...gone!

She needed to get away from here. "May we return to Knighton?"

"I'll be happy to escort you, but I'd prefer to visit Locksley. I promised Robin I'd visit his village, and pass along his well wishes to everyone there. He's always spoken of his people as if they were family." Roger smiled and raised his eyebrows at that, in slightly amused condescention. "Would you like me to take you home, or would you be willing to accompany me?"

She decided she'd like to go to Locksley and say "hello" to everyone there. She hadn't been, other than as the Nightwatchman, since that day Spencer had malled her, and everything in the village had seemed so bleak.

"I'll come, but I warn you, be prepared to be bored by glowing reports of their master's unparalleled virtues, and lies about his remarkable feats from the cradle upwards."

Roger was confused. He recognized that Marian had not been pleased by Robin's letter to her, but he didn't know to what extent. He thought her tone unusually bitter, and disrespectful to his Captain, whom he greatly admired. But perhaps she was only teasing.

He remembered Robin's grin when he spoke of how he and Marian teased each other. Apparently, Robin really enjoyed it, but Roger wasn't keen on that sort of banter. He liked Marian exactly the way she treated him...kindly, decently, respectfully. Charmingly. Oh, yes, Roger thought, she was charming. And beautiful. What he wouldn't give for a kiss! Or more.

He stopped himself directly. He wasn't a snake, who would sneak in and try to steal another man's woman, especially not a friend's, or a fellow soldier's. He was only here to make her acquaintance. Still, she was remarkable.

Together, they turned their horses toward Locksley.

...

Although it was a beautiful August afternoon, Locksley appeared deserted, save for one of Gisbourne's guards standing watch in his crow's nest tower above the village.

"This is odd," Roger ventured in a low tone, put off by the stillness. "Not at all what I expected."

"It's not at all the way it used to be," Marian explained, worried that Locksley seemed in worse straits than when she had last visited.

"So, that's Robin's house," Roger said, admiring Locksley Manor. "Nice, but pretty humble for an earl. Some of them are building massive stone castles now. How would you like Robin to build you your own castle, Marian?"

She frowned, ignoring his question. The unsettling quiet of the village disturbed her. Besides, she was no longer promised to Robin, and she wished Roger knew it.

"Come on," she said, leading him to a humble cottage and knocking on its door. "Come meet the Scarlet family."

After a moment, the door opened a crack, and Marian found herself looking up into the angry, suspicious face of young Will. When he saw who had knocked, he opened the door wider, and she led Roger inside. Will immediately closed the door behind them. His expression seemed to dare them to challenge him.

Dan stepped forward to greet her, his eyes red rimmed, his face pale and haggard.

"Good day," Marian began, hesitantly. "I've brought a friend of Master Robin's, from the Holy Land. Sir Roger, this is the Scarlet family...Dan, Will, Luke...I'd like you meet meet Sir Roger of Stoke."

Roger smiled, but the Scarlets merely stared at him, their expressions unchanged. Marian glanced nervously around. "Excuse me," she said, "where's your goodwife, Jane?"

Luke burst into tears. "Dead! They took my mother and buried her under the ground, in the churchyard!"

Marian stepped back, in surprise. "Dead? I'm so sorry! I didn't know! When? How?"

Will hugged his little brother to him, turning away in anger. Dan haltingly explained. "Four...five days now. Starved." His eyes filled up, so he could not speak.

"No!" Marian cried. She couldn't believe it!

Why hadn't she helped more? She recalled how weak and thin Jane had seemed when she last saw her, bringing food parcels as the Nightwatchman. She had obviously not brought enough!

"I am so sorry for your loss," Marian apologized, as if it were her fault. Her eyes brimmed over, and Roger took her arm.

"Perhaps we should come back another time," he murmured quietly.

Marian nodded, as a tear rolled down her cheek. Awkwardly, they excused themselves, and rode back to the forest.

Once safely hidden by the treeline, Marian reined her horse and began to sob.

Roger leaped from his horse and helped her dismount, and she collapsed onto his chest, crying. He carefully wrapped his arms around her shuddering body, trying to soothe her.

He stroked her hair and let her cry. He only wanted to comfort her, but his heart swelled with an overwhelming desire.

To Marian, at that moment he became another soldier from the Holy Land, with his bronzed skin, and "flesh and bone and sinew." She cried for all the Scarlet family had lost, and for all her losses. Her memories plunged her back to when she was only three, and had fallen into Locksley pond. She felt she was drowning, and needed to fight to reach the surface, to inhale precious needed air. Feeling his lips in her hair, and she turned her face upwards to meet his kiss.


	27. Chapter 27

"I'm sorry, milady! Please forgive me."

Roger of Stoke pulled away from Marian, ashamed of having kissed her.

He never suspected he would be so low as to betray his friend and Captain, Robin of Locksley, a man he genuinely liked and highly admired. At this very moment, Robin might be facing death at the hands of the Saracen army, and here was Roger, kissing his intended.

Marian sadly backed away. She was too broken up over the news of Jane Scarlet's death to think clearly. She hadn't meant to kiss Roger, but right now, it didn't seem to matter that she might have confused him with Robin. Will and Luke Scarlet's mother had starved to death, and she hadn't prevented it. She'd believed herself so noble, delivering a few small food parcels, but Jane had starved anyway.

She would have to do better! She'd underestimated their need, but no more. Marian couldn't undo Jane's death, but she would step up her efforts as the Nightwatchman, and...and, she'd go directly to the source of the problem and work to change him.

Marian did not look forward to facing Sir Guy of Gisbourne, but she'd do it, for Will and little Lukie, and the memory of their mother Jane.

"I need to go to the castle," she told Roger. "I need to speak to Guy of Gisbourne."

"Gisbourne?" Roger asked, in alarm. He'd only met the man once, but Roger had the distinct impression Gisbourne was unprincipled, and dangerous. "If you don't object, I'd like to go with you."

...

"Tell me again, Guy," Annie breathlessly begged, shoved against the unhewn stone wall in the castle kitchens, as Guy of Gisbourne roughly took his pleasure off her, "how I'm to be your wife."

Gisbourne's rhythmic grunts cresendoed to a long drawn out moan, as he finished with the pretty kitchen girl. He stepped away, fastening the laces on his trousers, while she reached down to gather the clothing he had pulled off her.

Panting, he watched as she hastily dressed herself. "Annie," he said quietly, "I am thirsty."

Not yet fully dressed, she immediately sought to serve him. Smiling, she poured and handed him a cup of water.

His lips curled in a semi-smile before he drained the cup and strode silently away.

He had previously told her he would marry her, but he hadn't expected her to cling to his promise so pathetically. He'd only said it to be kind, to ease her conscience from the "sin" she felt they were committing. Still, he didn't regret his words to her. It made her feel better about what they were doing, and he wanted her to be easy in her mind.

He actually cared for her. Her prettiness and devotion to him was satisfying. He was tired of pleasuring himself with women who submitted because they were forced to, or with those who complied willingly only to ease their body's needs.

He had something with Annie he had never experienced before. It pleased him to see her face light up in his presence, though he warned her to hide her feelings before others. She was proud of their liaison. At least, she was proud that he favored her. She was not proud of the physical aspects, for she had been strictly brought up, and was frightened of hellfire.

He felt at ease with her, for she came from low stock, and she looked up to him, believing he could do no wrong. In her presence, he needn't worry about manners and graces he had not been taught, despite his birth, nor about embarrassing himself by committing a social mistake. Whatever he said or did impressed her, and it flattered him. But of course, there was no way such a lowborn creature, no matter how fond of her he was, would ever be Lady Gisbourne.

Now that he was living in Locksley Manor, acting as Lord of the village, he truly felt he was regaining what should have been his all along, before the Gisbourne lands were seized from his father. He often wondered what he would gain were Huntington to die in battle. The man had no heirs. Would the Sheriff cajole Prince John to award the lands to him? Gisbourne thought he might. And what would be next? His titles? Guy of Gisbourne, Earl of Huntington and Lord of Locksley...it sounded right. He already had some of Huntington's wealth, all that the Sheriff hadn't stolen for himself. He kept a chest in his room, full of money and valuables.

If he could only have the house, the lands, and the titles, then all he would need would be a wife, a proper noblewoman, to bear him heirs and carry on the Gisbourne line. Lately, as his ambitions grew, he'd thought long and hard about such a wife.

There was no doubt whom he wanted. Huntington himself had chosen Lady Marian of Knighton, or, she had been chosen for him. Taking her to the marriage bed would complete the exchange...make Locksley truly his. Not only that, she was desirable in every other way. She had youth, breeding, carriage, virtue, and beauty to recommend her.

He would need to see to his wooing, but he was not sure how to go about it. The thought of making a mistake angered him, so he hesitated, watching her from the shadows whenever she was closeby, waiting for the time to be right.

...

"Marian," Roger said, as they rode toward Nottingham, "we need to talk."

She smiled in spite of her sorrow. Roger was certainly no Robin!

"We do," she agreed. "For starters, you need to stop feeling so bad about kissing me."

He was taken aback. "Milady?"

"If I were still betrothed to Robin, I would never have kissed you. But we ended our engagement several years ago, the day he told me he was going to war. Didn't he mention it, or does he avoid discussing me at all?"

Roger breathed a sigh of relief. "I didn't know...truly. That does change things! But, Marian, you shouldn't be so hard on Robin. He's extremely busy, carrying out His Majesty's orders, commanding men, saving people's lives."

"Saving lives? I thought he was killing, and...and whoring."

Roger reined his horse. "Where did you hear that?" he asked, angrily.

Marian looked embarrassed. Suddenly, she realized the Earl of Spencer had filled her head with lies. "He's not?" she asked weakly.

"Well, of course he's killing! That's what soldiers in battle do. But the other?" He shook his head.

"No?"

"I thought you'd grown up with him. I thought you knew him better than anyone, except maybe Much." He sighed. "I'm not saying he never tried it...the best of us have strayed, looking for some semblance of womanly affection to help us forget the horrors of war. But Robin's no lecher, Marian. You ought to know that."

She smiled secretly to herself. Of course she should have known. "Then he hasn't been removed as Captain of the King's Private Guard?"

"Who told you that? Of course he hasn't! He's never given the King a single reason to regret his appointment! He earns it every day, in ways you can't imagine."

"So, he's a hero."

"As I said, in ways you can't imagine."

"Then he hasn't changed?"

Roger sighed again. "He's changed. We've all changed. But not in the way you seem to think."

They rode in silence for a time, both of them thinking of the same man.

At last, Marian spoke. "So, what about us?" she asked. "You kissed me. I responded. Is your high regard for Robin going to keep you from pursuing me?"

Roger smiled. "Robin was right about you being bold and straight forward."

"A straight shooter," she said proudly. "That's what he used to call me. So, he does find time to discuss me, in between his heroic feats on the battlefield!"

"No, he told me years ago, when we were training to be knights. He hasn't spoken of you lately, other than giving me his letter to deliver to you."

"That piece of rubbish!" Marian exclaimed, disappointed. "So...Roger...you may as well answer me. I've had years of practice pulling information from a knight who didn't want to talk. I asked you before...what about us?"

He looked at her longingly. "You're still in love with him."

"I am not!"

"Not only that, but I'm betrothed."

Now, it was her turn to feel guilty. "Oh."

He hastened to alleviate her guilt. "It's not what you think. It's purely a financial arrangement, set up by our fathers ages ago. If it weren't discourteous to bandy a woman's name, I would be happy to describe her to you."

"Yet the betrothal stands."

"I am past the age of my majority. I've been successful delaying the marriage thus far."

"Is that why you went to war?"

"I went to recover the Holy Land," he answered simply. "I willingly risked my life to fight alongside King Richard. What's more, I plan to return to the King, as soon as I've attended to my family's affairs back in Stafford."

"Forgive me," she said sincerely. "I didn't realize your level of committment."

Roger studied her, and found himself changing his mind. "Or," he suggested, "I might return here, if my family affairs include successfully breaking my betrothal. But that all depends on what was in Robin's letter."

"That letter," she said bitterly, "was nothing more than him boasting of his heroics."

Roger eyed her soberly. "He has every reason to boast. He very nearly died at Jaffa, freeing the French. But, Marian, can you promise me there was nothing more? He didn't declare his feelings for you?"

"He has none." She was stunned, her mind filled with terrifying pictures of him nearly dying.

"Well, then," Roger stated, "I think the wiser course might be for me to return here. What say you, Marian? Would you welcome me back to your shire, if I became a free man?"

She wanted to be sure of her feelings before she answered. Breaking his engagement was a huge step, no matter how much he claimed to object to the arrangement. It wouldn't be fair to him if she weren't sure.

He had accused her of still loving Robin. That was ridiculous! She never even thought of him, ever. Believing this lie, she answered, "Come back. I assure you, you will be very welcome in Nottingham."


	28. Chapter 28

"Ah, Gisbourne! If it isn't our Leper Friend, and the messenger from the Holy Land, come to pay us a little visit!"

Marian hid her scowl of disapproval at the Sheriff's ridiculous and completely baffling insistence on calling her a "leper," and boldly approached Guy of Gisbourne.

"Sir Guy, may I have a word with you...in private?"

Gisbourne didn't reveal his surprise. He simply looked to the Sheriff.

"Go on, Gisbourne. I have business to attend to anyway. Tomorrow's hanging should prove most entertaining!"

...

Marian and Roger followed Guy of Gisbourne to a small nearby chamber. Once inside, with the door closed, Gisbourne turned to Marian and said, "I thought you said, 'alone.' "

Gisbourne's looming presence seemed to fill the small chamber. His deep breathy voice, coupled with his piercing gaze, disconcerted Marian. Although she considered herself brave, she was extremely grateful for Roger's company at this moment.

"Sir Roger and I have just come from Locksley," Marian began, ignoring Gisbourne's statement, and his ominous aura. "Sir Guy, are you aware one of the peasants has died, due to starvation?"

He lifted his chin and sniffed. "I recall hearing something of the matter."

"It is a travesty," Marian continued, passionate in her grief. "Jane Scarlet has always been a hearty woman, hale and strong! For her, of all people, to starve! Sir Guy, how could this have happened?"

Gisbourne cast a superior look her direction. "The woman did not eat. Isn't that the usual reason?"

"Sir," Roger interjected, "what I believe the lady is trying to ask you, is why this was allowed to take place. How could conditions get to the point where a strong woman dies from not having enough food to sustain her?"

Marian felt a twinge of annoyance. She was perfectly capable of making her own point. She pushed it aside, however, realizing that Roger was only trying to help.

"Am I to blame if her man did not provide for her? The Sheriff will not coddle those who chose not to work. It's time the peasants stood on their own two feet."

Marian's jaw dropped. "Sir Guy, you are mistaken! Dan Scarlet is one of the hardest workers in the shire. He is a skilled carpenter, who loves his work! For you to imply his wife died because he was lazy or incompetent is outrageous!"

Gisbourne's gaze intensified, nearly wilting Marian's resolve. "I handle conditions in Locksley as I see fit. The Sheriff has placed me in charge. It is up to the peasants to do their work, pay their taxes, and feed their families. If they refuse, they will suffer consequences. Is there anything else...milady?"

Marian nearly shuddered. The way he said "milady" sent shivers up and down her spine. But she could see she was getting nowhere with him today.

Gisbourne didn't seem human to her. Surely there was more to the man than the deep dark persona he projected! If Marian was to help the village, she would have to spend time with him, and break down his steely wall, find his weakness, and bring forth his humanity, what there was of it. But she wasn't going to succeed by being honest and forthright, she could see that. So much for being a "straight shooter!" Well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Nothing else, Sir Guy."

Gisbourne opened the door to show them out. As Roger passed him, he asked, meaningfully, "I assume you will soon return to the Holy Land?"

"I have business in Staffordshire first," Roger answered.

Gisbourne sneered. "Well then, I suggest you see to it." He turned, and made his way back to the Sheriff.

When he had gone, Roger said, "I'm afraid you won't get any help from him."

Marian turned her eyes on Roger. "You underestimate me," she said cooly. Then, suddenly, she surprised him by asking, her voice thick with passion, "How did he very nearly die at Jaffa?"

...

That night, Marian slept fitfully, her dreams filled with jumbled memories.

_She was furious with Robin, for her father had complained of his daring insolence during the Council of Nobles, and she rode to Locksley to tell him so. Upon arriving, she spied him outdoors, holding his bow, surrounded by adoring village children. He appeared to be teaching Matthew, an shy, overweight twelve-year-old the other children picked on, how to shoot._

_"Alright, Matthew," Robin said brightly, "now that I've explained how it's done, let's see you give it a try."_

_"He won't be able to do it!" another boy mocked. "He can't do anything right!"_

_"I wouldn't be so sure about that!" Much gloated. "You just watch and see, Smartie Mouth!"_

_Marian saw Robin wink at Matthew, and give him an encoraging grin. Matthew took the bow nervously, but seemed to steady as he raised it, aimed, and shot. His arrow hit the target near the center, and the children gasped in unison. _

_"Lucky shot!" they cried. Matthew looked crushed by their jeers._

_"Now, I grant you," Robin explained, "one shot might be luck. But two? That takes skill! Matthew, if you can hit the target a second time, I'd say we have a future champion in our midst! What do you think, children? Should we see if he can do it again?" _

_Marian saw Robin greet her with a smile. As she joined the group, the children bobbed in quick bows and curtseys. _

_"Let him try. He won't be able to do it!"_

_"If he can," Robin lied, "he's a better shot than I was at his age."_

_Matthew gulped, raised the bow, aimed, and hit the target a second time. After a brief silence, the children cheered._

_"Hurray for Matthew!" they cried. Chubby Matthew's face was surprised by their approval, and he almost cried. Robin tossled his hair as he took back his bow. _

_"Congratulations, Matthew! I don't believe I've seen such excellent shooting in years! I'd better start practicing, if I expect to beat you in the next archery competition!"_

_As the children ran off, congratulating Matthew on his marksmanship, Marian turned to a grinning Robin and said, "You've been giving him private lessons, haven't you?"_

_Much smiled broadly, but Robin gave her a sheepish grin. "Private lessons? Me? Now, Marian, when would I find the time for that? No...he's just a natural!"_

_Suddenly, she was lying hidden on her belly next to Robin on the top of a hill, ten years younger, watching Kate and some boys taunt a young frightened Much. _

_"Put an apple on his head," Kate suggested, laughing. "See if Robin can shoot it off!" _

_The boys laughed, and one of them pushed Much against a tree, placing an apple on top of his head._

_"There!" Kate gloated. "When Robin gets here, he's going to shoot that apple right off your head! You're not scared, are you?"_

_Much, quivering with fear, didn't speak. _

_Kate picked up an apple to eat. Just as she was about to take a bite, an arrow whizzed out of nowhere, flinging the apple from her hand._

_"Robin!" the children cried._

_Robin and Marian strode down the hill, furious at Kate and the other bullies._

_"You do not use my best friend for target practice, do you understand me?" Robin demanded. Marian noticed how proud Much was at being called Robin's "best friend" in front of the others._

_"Robin," Kate whined, "he wanted to eat all the apples for himself."_

_"I doubt it. But if any of you are hungry, you come see me. You do not resort to meanness. Come on, Much, let's go home."_

Marian awoke with a start. "Come home, Robin," she whispered softly. "Your people need you."


	29. Chapter 29

It was no wonder the King employed Roger of Stoke as his messenger, Marian thought, for the man certainly possessed the virtues of reliability and predictability.

When he had left Nottinghamshire for Staffordshire, Roger had promised Marian he would return within the month, and now, here he was, less tan and less thin, returning exactly thirty days since they had parted.

From her bedroom window, Marian watched Roger hand Winddodger's reins to her stableboy Daniel, and go around her house to approach her front door. She sighed discontentedly as she heard Sarah let him into her home.

Her father's voice welcomed him warmly. Marian delayed her entrance, barely listening to their calm masculine voices exchange mundane pleasantries, as she chided herself for not being pleased to see him. Why wasn't she?

Roger was a wonderful man! He would make any woman an ideal husband! He was young, good looking, intelligent, kind, brave, steady, noble, honest...he was perfect! And Marian liked him very much! It just wasn't fair she wasn't happy to see him!

Her father had warned her she wanted far too much from life...that she was a "dreamer," and that real life was made of harsh realities, not dreams. The events happening in Nottingham these past few years completely supported her father's view. Marian was convinced he spoke the truth, and she was determined, from now on, to put her feet firmly on the ground, where they belonged, and give up her foolish dreams. Dreams were for children and fools, and she was neither.

Fixing a smile on her face, she climbed down the stairs to greet her guest.

...

"I'll leave you two young people alone now," Sir Edward said, stepping away from the room.

Marian sat, hands folded in her lap, while Roger confidently looked down at her.

"What is it?" he asked, for she seemed to be evaluating him with her eyes.

"Forgive me," she smiled. "I didn't mean to stare. It's just...you've changed."

"Have I?" he asked, intrigued. "I hope it's for the better."

"You look more English. You've lost your Crusader coloring, and you've filled out a bit."

"This is the true me," he said. "I hope you're not disappointed."

"Of course not! You look very nice."

There was an awkward pause.

"So," Marian resumed, "you have returned, just as you promised. How did you find things in Staffordshire?"

Roger studied her carefully. She seemed to be holding herself aloof, which confused him. Perhaps the weeks apart had distanced him from her in her mind. Well, he would work to regain her trust and affection.

He told her bad news. "Just like your shire, we have a new sheriff, hand picked by Prince John, though not quite so poisonous as your Vaisey."

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Yes, it's unfortunate. I suppose the Prince is getting rich selling his brother's kingdom, shire by shire, province by province, to his own underlings. But, I have good news as well. At least, I hope you'll agree it's good news."

She waited, guessing he was now a free man, and wishing she could feel more pleased about this than she did. She wished she could enjoy some kind of feeling, instead of this overbearing numbness and discontentment.

He continued. "I had no difficulty breaking my betrothal. In fact, I didn't have to break it at all. The lady had already broken it for me."

"And why did she do that, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It's a common story, happening all over Christendom just now. Young men leave for battle…young ladies have no desire to wait for a husband-to-be who may not return, so they attach themselves to safer candidates."

Marian felt her face flush. That was NOT what she was doing!

Roger recognized her discomfort. Was this the reason she and Robin were no longer engaged? "Marian, I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn."

"It wasn't the waiting," she explained. Her throat constricted, making it difficult to speak. But she wanted to be understood. "It was…it was him making a choice. Choosing war…choosing glory over me."

The sorrow and hurt in her eyes were unmistakable, and he asked, "You still love him, don't you?"

"No," she answered, so forcefully he knew she was lying. "Why should I love someone who broke his promise to me, just so he could run off and play soldier?"

Roger didn't speak for a moment. When at last he did, his voice was cold. "Robin's not 'playing' soldier. I resent you saying that. There are bigger issues here, issues you cannot understand."

"Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"I have no desire to argue with you, Marian."

"And yet you accuse me of feeblemindedness! Of not being able to understand!"

"Marian, we do not need to have this conversation."

"Because you don't wish to have it?"

"I don't wish to argue."

"Well, I do!"

"Perhaps I should go." Unlike Martin of Aylesbury, Roger went straight to her door. Turning back, he said sincerely, "Please forgive me if my words offended you. I hope you'll allow me to return, when our heads are cooler. Goodbye, Marian."

She stared, aghast, as the door closed behind him. How dare he?

He had stayed in perfect control of himself. Cool and collected, except for when he had defended Robin! Well, if he thought more of Robin than he thought of her, this was not going to work! She'd be sure to tell him so, too, the next time they met.

…

Guy of Gisbourne nodded permission to Nottingham's jailor to begin torturing the Sheriff's latest prisoner, then strode toward the castle kitchens. He hadn't been to visit Annie in more than a week, for his desire for her was cooling. Nevertheless, he felt in the mood to visit her today.

He was scheduled to make a trip, a very important and dangerous trip, and he would not see her for weeks and weeks. He wouldn't tell her this, for his mission was top secret. Like everyone else, Annie would be told he was ill and in quarantine.

Arriving in the kitchens, he found Annie sitting on a stool, bent over, her head in her hands.

"Annie," he said quietly, "what's wrong?"

She looked up, her face and lips pale.

"Guy!" she cried happily. "You're here! I've missed you! I've been so worried! Where have you been?"

"I've told you, Annie. I am very busy, conducting the Sheriff's business. But you look ill."

"It's nothing. I'm just a bit unwell. I've had a dizzy spell or two. But I feel so much better, now you're here."

She looked quite ill, and Gisbourne was concerned. "I'll send for a physician," he offered.

"Oh, no! Please, Guy, please! Not that horrible Dr. Blight!"

"No. My man's name is Pitts. He's a fine physician, Annie. He'll soon have you well again."

"You are so wonderful," Annie cooed.

She wanted to tell Guy what she suspected, but thought it wiser to wait until this Dr. Pitts confirmed her condition. And then, once he did, Guy would take care of everything! He'd marry her, just as he'd said, and she'd live in his big house and have position! Everything would be wonderful.

…

At dawn in the Holy Land, Robin and Much were exhausted. They had spent the entire night visiting wounded soldiers in the hospital the Hospitaller Knights had set up in Acre, trying to aid and comfort the wounded as well as they could.

"It's alright, Master," Much explained, as they approached the marketplace, "we wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, with so many of the wounded screaming in pain. When is all this going to stop?"

Robin was looking at the goods for sale, in stalls under bright canopies. Bananas, lemons, oranges, figs, dates, spices, soaps, gingerbread, and even poisons were for sale. He purchased some gingerbread and fruit, and shared it with Much.

"The king's negotiating peace as we speak, Much."

"No? Really? Really, Master? I knew it! I knew this couldn't go on forever!"

Robin grinned. "King Richard's meeting with Saladin's brother Safadin tonight to begin peace talks. It promises to be a fun evening, in between the negotiations. They're planning to outdo one another with all the best food and entertainment you can imagine. And guess who's invited?"

"You?"

"That's right!"

"Does that mean I get to come, too?"

"Of course!"

Much smiled, excited at the prospect of the evening, and the possibility of a ceasefire.

"Richard's proposing a three year truce...with us keeping the coastal ports, and dividing Jerusalem into three separate sections...one for Jews, one for Muslims, and one for Christians, with access to each section allowed by all."

"Do you think it will work, Robin?"

"Richard wants peace. His exact words in his message to Saladin were, 'You and I can go on no longer. The time has come to stop this.' I believe it will work."

"Well, halleluia!" Much cried.

...

**(Note: Hospitaller Knights really did set up a hospital (the word originated from them) in Acre, with 2000 beds, and King Richard's troops had trouble sleeping at night, for the screams of the wounded kept them awake. Richard really sent the words to Saladin, and proposed the peace terms reported in this story.) **


	30. Chapter 30

That night in Acre, King Richard's tent was the site of an elaborate festivity, the likes of which had never been seen before or since.

Saladin had sent his brother Safadin to begin negotiations with gifts for Melek-Ric, the Saracen's name for King Richard. Gifts included baskets of peaches and pears, preserved in snow from the mountain tops, as well twenty fine steeds, each ridden by a long tailed monkey. Much got a hearty laugh watching twenty monkeys ride into their camp on horseback!

Inside the tent, only those closest to the King were permitted to attend. Much was thrilled that Robin had been included, so that he could also see what was going on, and sample the delicious many coursed meal. Robin was excited to be there as well, fascinated by the peace talks. The dancing girls weren't too bad, either.

"My sister Joan is willing to marry Your Highness," Richard bargained, "but only if you agree to convert to Christianity and be baptised in the faith."

"Robin!" Much whispered, his mouth full of roast lamb, "That is revolting! Princess Joan can't marry him! He already has a harem full of wives!"

"Don't worry, Much. Richard has no intention of marrying his favorite sister to Safadin. She's happy remaining in Sicily, as the Dowager Queen, since her husband died. It's all just part of the talks, to appear as if he'd do anything for peace."

"Well, wouldn't he?"

"Nearly. But only a fiend with no heart would sell his own sister in marriage."

"I don't know anybody who would ever do that," Much agreed.

Knowing King Richard's intense love of music, Saladin had sent one of the finest musicians from his Court to play for the Angevin King. She came forward now with her guitar, and strummed the sweetest music Richard had ever heard.

"She's pretty good," Much said. "I'd like to learn how to play that...that...that instrument. You probably wouldn't stop me from singing so much, would you, if I could play along as well as that."

Robin didn't answer, admiring instead how pretty the young musician was. He gave her a charming smile, and she answered him with one of her own.

Before too long, Much, cheery from wine, told his master, "Don't look now, but I think that female guitar player likes me! She keeps looking our direction and smiling!"

"Is that so?" Robin asked.

"I'd like to meet her. Too bad I can't speak her language."

"If only you knew someone who could," Robin joked, wondering how long it would take for Much to realize.

It took about thirty seconds, but Much finally declared, "Robin! You taught yourself Arabic! Come with me, and meet her! Translate for me, won't you, please, Master?"

"Alright." They stood, and approached the woman, who had finished her recital.

Robin gave her one of his irresistible looks, and said, "As-salam alaykum. Ismi Robin of Locksley, sadiqi Much."

"What did you say? What did you say?" Much asked.

"He said," the young woman replied, in heavily accented English, not taking her eyes off Robin, " 'Hello. My name is Robin of Locksley, and this is my friend Much.' "

"Good, Master. Now tell her I liked her music."

"Thank you very much, Much," she said.

"Oh, that was quick. Robin, how do you say, 'You're welcome?' "

Robin and the woman both answered together, "Afwan."

"Afwan," Much said proudly. He noticed Robin and the woman exchange a smile at his expense, and at last he caught on. "Oh! Very funny! Why didn't you tell me she could speak English? I'll take it from here, Master."

Robin bowed his head, grinning, and returned to his place at Richard's table.

"So," Much began, trying to imitate Robin's swagger, "what's your name?"

The woman looked confused. "Maa qult?" she asked.

Now, Much was confused as well. He repeated his question, much louder. "WHAT - IS - YOUR - NAME?" he asked slowly.

"Maa qult?" she asked, innocently.

"Oh, this is hopeless!" Much cried. "Master...Master, come here!"

Robin, smirking, rejoined them.

"Fatinah," the woman answered immediately, before Much had time to say a word.

"Fatinah," Robin repeated, his voice caressing her name. "It means 'Captivating Enchantress.' "

"You truly have studied Arabic!" she exclaimed. "I would not expect a Crusader to know such words."

"I don't know them," he lied. "It just seemed to suit."

They gave each other intensely passionate gazes, while poor Much stood by, sputtering. "But-but-but-but-but, Master! Oh...forget it!" He stomped his feet and returned to his place at the table, to console himself with the feast.

One of the dancing girls approached Fatinah, handing her a pair of finger cymbals and ankle bracelets, wreathed in tiny bells. "Excuse me," Fatinah said to Robin, putting them on. "I hope you will enjoy my dance."

She brushed past him, her perfume delighting his sense of smell. Before them all, to the strains of exotic music, she began to dance. Beginning slowly, completely absorbed in the dance, she moved with exquisite grace and provocative charm, casting off various items of her clothing, so that she appeared at last in the smallest and filmiest of tops, and a pair of sheer billowing harem pants. Her midriff was bare, and she shook her hips and moved as only the women of her culture could, gaining momentum with each item of clothing she shed. Robin was indeed captivated.

She rejoined him as soon as she finished her dance.

"Well?" she asked, sensuously.

"Saladin ought to put you on the front lines. Every soldier in battle would instantly surrender."

She smiled slowly, her black eyes glittering in the torchlight. "I am hot from my dance. I need air. Accompany me, Crusader. Is your tent nearby?"

Robin hesitated for a split second. He should stay here, in the King's tent. He should...but where would be the fun in that? "I'll take you there, Enchantress." He led her away, avoiding Much's scolding expression.

Inside his tent, she glanced at his and Much's cots.

"Your cot is small," she observed, employing a euphemism.

"Not so very small," he grinned, appreciating her challenge. "I think it will be a very tight fit, the two of us."

She lifted her arched eyebrows. "Is that so? I am thirsty, Crusader. Have you any wine?"

He poured some into a silver chalice, and handed it to her, brushing her fingertips with his. She took a small sip, and approached his lips with hers, drizzling wine into his mouth. His eyes opened wide in surprise, but he liked it.

Taking his hands in hers, she turned them over and stroked his palms. "How many of my people have these hands killed?" she asked. He breathed in, convicted, pulling his hands away. So, he had a conscience, did he, this handsome, famous archer? She would try a different approach.

"Your hands are like mine," she murmured. "Strong, yet sensitive. Play me as you play your bow, and I'll play you as I play my guitar."

She began strumming his body, getting him more and more excited. But as he kissed her, his mind kept holding him back. Try as he might to dismiss it, he couldn't banish an image haunting his thoughts. A young girl's beautiful blue eyes, hurt, angry, and confused on a May Day many years past, after he claimed his prize for winning the archery competition, kissing the Queen of the May. It wasn't the kiss...it was his expertise at kissing that had hurt young Marian.

Fatinah felt him holding himself back. "Why did you bring me to your tent, if you don't wish to play?"

"But I do."

"Not tonight you don't. May you be more victorious in war than you are in love." She sighed, frustrated. "And now, Crusader, walk me back to your King's tent. We have been absent too long."

Robin breathed out a long, frustrated sigh as well. He felt he would never be free, but he didn't wish to be. He would rather suffer from his lost love, than lose one single memory of her.

In silence, he walked the alluring Fatinah back to the King's tent, and was met by Much's accusing eyes.


	31. Chapter 31

"Marian."

Much rolled over on his cot, covering up his ears in a huff. It was bad enough that Robin had stolen that Fatima, or Fatina, or FaTeeny Tiny, or whatever her name was, right out from under his very nose last evening, but now, he, Much, was forced to listen to Robin's voice call out to Marian in his sleep? Again! Outrageous! Unbelievable!

"I'm not saying anything…I'm not saying anything," Much muttered to himself.

Not only that, but in the morning, it would be Friday, and what did that mean? Every Friday now for more than a month, whenever they weren't fighting some horrendous bloody battle, Much would accompany Robin to the marketplace, to watch his master make a fool of himself shamelessly flirting with Rachel, a pretty young Jewess. She would be there to do her family's shopping for their Sabbath, which began Friday evening at sunset. Every week now, ever since she had "accidentally" bumped into a certain English archer, she spent most of her time in the marketplace swooning over his wicked grin and honeyed words, rather than attending to business and selecting her Sabbath items.

"Do you see what I have to put up with?" Much asked an invading tarantula, just before he hurled his boot at it.

"Marian."

That one word was a masterpiece of music on Robin's lips. The longing in his voice spoke volumes.

Much groaned aloud and rolled back over onto his side, turning to face his best friend. "Oh, Robin," he sighed, "how are you ever going to manage when we get home, seeing her set up as another man's wife?"

He cried silent tears for his friend.

…

Roger of Stoke stood leaning against a pillar in Knighton Hall, patiently watching Marian pace breathlessly back and forth, as she fired question after question at him.

"Why exactly are you here?" she asked. "If things are so bad in your shire, then why aren't you there attending to matters? Or, if you truly are as dedicated to the King's Crusade as you say, then why aren't you back in the Holy Land fighting?"

"Because, I would like to settle something here first. As soon as I know, one way or another, I will either go home to Staffordshire, with plans to marry, or return to Outremer, alone. I don't mean to pressure you, Marian, but I'd like an answer."

"You want me to marry you? Really?"

He breathed an exasperated sigh. When she acted like this, he truly wondered why.

He was not like his friend Robin. He did not enjoy this aspect of her personality. Arguing was NOT fun. Neither were dramatics. And, he did not appreciate a woman so strong willed, she balked at every source of authority.

"I only want your permission to proceed trying to win you. I'm trusting you to be forthright with me, Marian, and not lead me on. Please tell me, do I have any hope of success, or should I give you up and return to the King's army?"

"You should decide that, not me!"

Roger took a deep breath, maintaining his composure. What would Robin do in such a case? He decided to ask her. He felt it was folly to pretend Robin didn't influence this decision.

"Marian," he began, "every time we're together, I feel as if there are three of us."

"What do you mean...three?"

"It's never just us. I think, if it were, you and I would get along better. But someone else is always here, isn't he?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Marian, you need to stop taking out your anger at Robin on me. I'm not Robin, Marian."

"You need to stop telling me what to do!"

"Perhaps you should not be so disrespectful. I am a guest in your home."

"An univited guest! An unwelcome one!"

He looked at her, realizing he had lost. "You don't realize how much you love him, do you?"

"You need to leave!"

"Very well, I shall go." He walked to her door, then turned back to look at her one last time. "If we had met under different circumstances, I'm sure we would be very good friends. Perhaps we may still be, one day. Goodbye, Marian. When I arrive in the Holy Land, is there anything you'd like me to tell Robin?"

She lifted her head proudly, like a queen, before answering, "Tell him not to bother coming home. Tell him I hope he stays there forever."

Roger shook his head, resigned, and partially relieved, at losing her.

When he had gone, she realized how sorry she was. Sorry that she had been so rude. Sorry that she would probably never see him again, for he was a fine man. But the greatest thing she was sorry for was just what he had said...she was sorry he wasn't Robin.


	32. Chapter 32

There was no indication Guy of Gisbourne suffered any degree of nervousness, other than his sneer was perhaps slighty more pronounced than usual, as he stood behind the Sheriff's "throne" at the Council of Nobles. Nevertheless, he was nervous.

He was about to take a step today towards winning the Lady Marian to be the future Lady Gisbourne, and he felt worried, lest he commit a social blunder. But there was no reason to put it off any longer. He would need to "disappear" shortly, supposedly into quarantine, and he believed he needed to make his move now.

He had bought her a gift, a jeweled hairpin for her radiant hair. He didn't know whether his gift would be considered appropriate or not, and he was angry, already feeling the sting of her rejection before it was given, or seeing the hidden mockery behind her eyes, if his gift happened to be all wrong. She would insult him, he felt sure, hiding her scorn behind her smile, and he dreaded facing her.

He would risk it. She had a long string of suitors. If he hesitated and made no move, a new one would swoop in and claim her, while he was busy accomplishing his mission...the mission that would ensure him wealth and position. Once he'd attained those, there would be no more silent jeers behind his back. There would be no more rejection. She would willingly give him her hand, and he wouldn't feel this way ever again.

"Well la dee dah dee dah!" The Sheriff cut off Walter of Merton with his usual jibe. The Council was drawing to a close. Gisbourne's armpits were wet, and his hands clammy. Dammit! She would scorn him for his gift!

He strode towards her, but that fool Aylesbury had reached her first. Well, he was easily disposed of!

"Lady Marian," Martin of Aylesbury was saying, "I hear Stoke returned to Staffordshire. My lady WIFE told me! Yes, my lady WIFE heard he left a few days ago. Tell me, will he be returning to Nottinghamshire any time soon?"

"Why don't you ask your lady WIFE? She seems abreast of all the local gossip. I'm sure you two get along quite well."

"My lady WIFE told me Stoke's father is ill...and that will delay Stoke's return to the Holy Land."

"I am very sorry to hear that," Marian said, sincerely grieved.

She looked up to see Gisbourne hovering. When Martin noticed him, he gave an involuntary yelp, and scurried away without saying another word.

"Milady," Gisbourne began quietly, feeling the Sheriff's jealous eyes boring into his broad back, "a word alone, if you please." He was trying so hard to say what he believed must be "proper." Damn those with breeding!

"Sir Guy? I believe we can speak freely here, surely."

"I did not refuse you when you asked to speak to me in private."

Marian paused. It was true, he hadn't. But Roger had been with her then. She did not deem it wise to be alone with Sir Guy of Gisbourne! Still, he was making it very clear she could not refuse. "Very well, Sir Guy."

She followed him into the same small chamber they had used for their previous discussion. Once inside, with the door closed, she waited nervously for him to speak.

She grew more and more uncomfortable when he remained silent, his eyes staring intently at her. "Sir Guy? You requested a word?"

"Yes," he said, angry at her for making him feel so uncomfortable. How to begin?

"I have been pleased by our growing friendship." His rehearsed speech sounded fine to him. She didn't appear to be jeering at him, either. She was simply listening.

"I am pleased as well," she said.

"In honor of that friendship, I wish to present you with a token...a gift." He pulled out a small wooden box. A wave of anger washed over him when he saw her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Sir Guy," she smiled, "it is not necessary to give me a gift."

"Do you reject it without even looking at it?"

His tone alarmed her, and she took a deep breath, calming her nerves. "I am sorry. I am just confused by your generosity. It is past my birthday."

"Yes. You are another year older, and still a maiden."

It was not meant to insult, but to serve as a reminder that she needed a husband. However, she was highly sensitive about her unmarried state, and she took offense.

"Sir Guy, I cannot accept a gift from you at this time." Her tone was firm and determined.

"So, you do reject it!"

"I must. I am sorry."

Her pride was unforgivable. But he knew he would forgive it.

He needed her to take the gift. He needed her to have something to remember him by, these next several weeks when he would be gone.

"Milady," he said, pressing the box into her hand, "goodday." Before she could protest, he turned and walked from the room.

...

Much scolded Robin the entire way to the marketplace.

"I suppose you're not going to tell Rachel about your illicit encounter with FaTeeny Tiny last evening, oi, Master?"

"It wasn't 'illicit!' "

"Please! What would you call it then?"

"Disappointing," Robin thought. He didn't answer Much with words, however. Instead, he just laughed and grinned devilishly, leading Much to believe the worst.

"I knew it!" Much exclaimed. "I knew it!"

Robin spied the lovely Rachel, looking around Acre's busy marketplace, trying to find him in the crowd.

She was easy to spot. Acre boasted only a handful of Jewish citizens, only 200 or so. Jews had been expelled from the Holy Land years ago, and were only recently able to return. Rachel's family had lived in England, which was convenient, since her English was perfect. Robin spied her instantly, for she wore the required yellow turban that marked her as a Jew.

Other "humiliations" Jews suffered in the Holy Land included paying higher taxes, using no saddles on horseback, wearing different colored shoes, and hanging a skull on the door of their dwellings. Robin had never seen the skull hanging over her family home, since her father would be furious if he knew his daughter was spending time with a Christian. They could only meet in the marketplace, for even though they were surrounded by crowds, it was here that their relationship could remain a secret.

She jumped when Robin seemed to materialize out of thin air before her. "Good day," he greeted her in English, smiling his charming smile.

"You startled me," she said, thrilled at the sight of him.

He proprietarily took her basket, peering at its contents. "So," he said, "what else do we need to buy today?"

She took his offered arm, while Much followed behind, grumbling under his breath. Robin handed him the basket to carry.

"I still need pomegranates, and unleavened flour."

"You shall have them!" He readily found the items, and paid for them himself. "Now, Rachel," he said softly, "as your business is accomplished, is there anything else you see in the market you might like?"

His meaning was clear. Her cheeks colored prettily. "I'd like to hear you talk."

Much's loud groan attracted the attention of everyone nearby.

Robin chuckled. "I can certainly oblige. But I wonder, if I do, how are you thinking of repaying me?" He leaned in close, causing her heart to flutter wildly.

"You will just have to wait and see," she managed to say. "Please, tell me how you've been."

He continued his irrestible smile. "As well as can be expected, considering I live in wait for Fridays."

She could only smile and blush. Much sighed loudly, in exasperation. "Please!" he exclaimed.

"I do have some very good news," Robin continued, as they walked arm in arm. He pressed his body close, to feel her breast against his side. She didn't object.

"The King and Saladin are negotiating peace. Both sides have agreed to a cease fire, which means..."

"Which means you don't have to fight any more! You won't be hurt!" Tears sprung to her eyes, and Robin was touched.

"If that doesn't give us cause to celebrate, I don't know what does!" He looked around for someplace he could steer her to catch a moment of privacy. Not finding one immediately, they continued walking.

"I'm afraid I'm just about to say something blasphemous," he began.

"You couldn't! Not with that mouth of yours! Whatever it speaks, can only sound holy!"

Much groaned again.

"What if I were to say...your Torah lies?"

She stopped. It would be wrong for him to want to convert her to his faith. She would need to stop him. And yet, if that was what he wanted, she felt she would convert. At once.

But she needn't have worried, or hoped, if that was the case. He was simply being charming.

"The Holy Book claims that Rachel, although beautiful and shapely...true words...did not possess the beautiful eyes her sister Leah could boast of. I cannot believe it. So, what is the charge for my blasphemy?"

She blushed, but pulled him behind a curtained booth and enjoyed his lips for as long as she dared, which Much waited in the hot sun, complaining.

...

(NOTE: Probably obvious, but the information about Jews in Acre is based on historical fact. There were between 100 - 300 in Acre at this time...I rounded it to 200. There were probably more "humiliations," but these were the ones I was able to find.)


	33. Chapter 33

Lying on his cot, Robin put down the Quran he had been struggling to read. He was in a black mood.

No matter how much fun he had flirting with Rachel on Friday mornings, Friday evenings invariably brought frustration, jealousy, despair.

He liked Rachel. He enjoyed spending time with her. Ever since they had met, the day she had bumped into him in the marketplace, and he'd helped her gather the items she had spilled from her basket, he looked forward to Friday mornings. She had since confessed to him that their colliding had not been an accident...that she had done it deliberately so she could meet him, and he thought that was sweet. She had also confessed, with anguish in her voice, that her father was working to betroth her to a young Jew named Joseph, but Robin didn't mind at all. He hoped Joseph was a good man who would be kind to Rachel. He hoped they would be very happy together. But he didn't tell her that.

He suspected she liked him more than he liked her, and his conscience pricked him. In fact, she seemed to be growing more and more smitten with him, while his feelings remained lukewarm. He should end it, but he didn't want to hurt her. What would be the kindest thing to do? He thought it would be best to simply carry on, until her betrothal became official, and he could release her on that excuse. That way, he wouldn't have to hurt her, and he felt certain she would soon get over him.

He wished his own heart was so easily mended. But it wasn't. It ached. Sometimes the pain was so great, he wished he'd died in battle.

Marian...married? To Martin of Aylesbury? That fool? He couldn't stomach it.

Even if it wasn't Aylesbury, the thought of his beautiful girl married to anyone else made him ill.

"Master?" Much interrupted Robin's dangerous musings, entering their tent carrying a towel, some soap, and a bowl of fresh water. "Master, you need to get ready. Prince Safadin will be here any moment now for another peace talk party, and I want you presentable. We're expected to attend."

...

The party in King Richard's tent was every bit as elaborate and unusual as the previous one. The very best in food, drink, and entertainment was provided by both sides, as the rulers sought to outdo each other.

King Richard and Sultan Saladin's brother, Prince Safadin, were forming a friendship as they continued their negotiations, based on mutual admiration and respect. While they dined and spoke of peace, the other guests enjoyed themselves.

Although his heart still ached, Robin chatted amicably with the other party guests. He broke into a bright smile when a small Saracen child surprised him by climbing right onto his lap.

"Well, hello there," he said, in Arabic. "Who are you?"

The little girl smiled back at him. She was missing her two front teeth.

Prince Safadin answered for her. "Dayfa Khatun, you climb down from there! Forgive her, Sir Robin of Locksley! My daughter seems to have taken an instant fancy to you."

"The feeling is mutual, Your Highness." Robin let little Dayfa take his hand and lead him to a table loaded with gifts, hidden as yet by a rich damask cloth.

"One for you," she said, in broken English, before darting away.

Robin's eyes followed her wistfully. The child had helped to lighten his heart, dispelling much of his grief. Turning to return to his seat, he found the alluring Fatinah in his path.

"We meet again, Crusader," she said bewitchingly.

He laughed the adorable nervous laugh he used whenever accosted by preying females. "Good evening, Enchantress," he replied smoothly, recovering his composure.

"So," she challenged, "how are you feeling tonight? Are you ready to play me?"

She was incredibly tempting...the ideal cure for his broken heart. "I promise not to disappoint."

"I must play my guitar before I play you, and dance again for your King, but after that...after that I promise you such delights as you have never known."

Robin kissed her hand, excited by her offer. "Until then," he agreed passionately.

She stepped away to sing and play for King Richard. Robin lightly wetted his lips as he watched her expert fingers bring forth exquisite strains from her guitar.

"She certainly has a way with that instrument, if I do say so myself," Much commented, his mouth filled with pastries.

Robin nodded, trying to imagine what a way she would soon have with him, and he with her.

His amorous visions were interrupted by a trumpet blast, announcing Prince Safadin's presentation of gifts.

"Tonight is a special night," the Saracen Prince proclaimed. "The Sultan has sent me, Al-Adil, to act as emissary to negotiate peace with the brave and mighty warrior, Melek-Ric. In honor of that peace, the Sultan has sent many gifts. I, Al-Adil, present Melek-Ric with a gift of seven camels, a rich tent, as well as a special surprise."

He clapped his hands, and two servants rushed forward, grovelled in the sand, then rose and scurried backwards, bowing the entire way, until they reached a large covered cage. Removing the cover, everyone was astonished to see an enormous tiger, a large ferocious striped cat from the East. King Richard's pleased laughter boomed through the tent.

"Excellent! He shall take the place of honor in the royal menagerie housed back home in the White Tower!"

"What is that?" Much cried in alarm, staring at the massive beast.

"I think it's called a 'tiger,' Much. I've never seen one before. It's magnificent!"

" 'Tiger?' "

"The name means 'swift as an arrow,' referring to how it moves."

"Well, I'm glad it's locked up then," Much declared, returning to his food.

Robin continued to admire the tiger, while Safadin distributed additional presents. At last, Robin was surprised to hear Safadin call out his name, ordering him to come forward. He immediately obeyed.

"And now, let it not be said that the Sultan does not admire those amongst His enemies worthy of His admiration! You, Robin of Locksley, are one such warrior. Your bravery, skill, and feats in battle are well known, providing food for legend! To mark the Sultan's admiration, He graciously sends you this gift...a Saracen bow of your own!"

The rich cloth on the table was removed, revealing a recurved bow of Saracen design. Safadin himself handed it to Robin, and the instant Robin gripped it, he knew it was special.

Something akin to a lightening bolt shot through his body as he held the bow, staring at it in wonderment and awe. It felt right...like it had been made for him. He couldn't take his eyes off it. His hands caressed its symmetrical, elegant curves. He felt at one with it...whole. He never wanted to be parted from it, and he longed to try it out. He gazed at it in amazement the entire time Fatinah was performing her provocative dance.

When she finished, she approached him, aroused by the thought of the pleasure and love making they were about to experience. "Come, Crusader," she invited, "lead me to your tent. It is time."

Robin barely heard her, so engrossed was he with his bow.

"Come," she repeated again.

"No," he said lightly, completely enchanted by his new weapon. "My place is here. With my bow."

Fatinah appeared confused, but withdrew to consider the strange Crusader who had disappointed her twice.

Suddenly, there was a horrible commotion within the tent. Little Dayfa, in her curiosity over the tiger, had fiddled with the lock on its cage, inadvertently springing it open! Snarling, the tiger leaped from its cage, hurtling its tremendous body towards Dayfa! The child screamed as the tiger sprang at her, its massive claws and teeth fully bared for the kill.

Faster than lightening, an arrow whizzed from Robin's bow, felling the mighty beast, killing it instantly.

There was silence in the tent, broken by Dayfa's cries. She cried from fear, relief, and joy, and her father Safadin nearly joined in her tears.

"Well done, Robin!" King Richard shouted.

"Yes," Safadin agreed, "well done!"

All stared at the lifeless body of the jungle cat, stretched upon the desert sand in the middle of the colorful silks of King Richard's tent. Robin gripped his bow tighter, more convinced than before at how "right" it felt.

"You must have its tooth!" Safadin proclaimed.

"What?" Robin asked.

"The tiger's tooth! Come! Cut out its tooth!" Safadin clapped his hands twice, and his fawning servants reappeared, with sharp knives. They somehow managed to extract a long straight pointed fang from the tiger, and handed it, bowing obsequiously, to Prince Safadin.

Safadin, in turn, presented it to Robin.

"You, Robin of Locksley, saved my most precious jewel, the light of my life and delight of my eyes, Princess Dayfa, from the teeth of the beast. When I tell Saladin of your bravery, He shall be even more determined to make peace with you Crusaders. And now, I, Prince Al-Adil, present you, Robin of Locksley, with the tooth of the cat you killed. Wear it proudly as a trophy of your bravery. And know this, Robin, those who wear the tooth of a tiger over their hearts, will find their broken hearts mended."

...

That night, Robin did not sleep alone in his cot, though his companion was not made of flesh and blood. Still clutching his bow, the tiger tooth strung and hanging from his neck, he smiled in his sleep as he whispered the name "Marian."

...

**(Note: Thanks to CindyUSA, FireSpring Roses, and Ivan'oe for their ideas. We all brainstormed as to what exactly the necklace is Robin wears in PARENTHOOD, until discovering exact replica images online of a tiger's tooth. Also, since Robin "knows his Persian," according to the Sheriff, he would know "tiger" is Persian for "swift as an arrow," which seems to gel with him wearing that beast's tooth! Historically, the gifts of seven camels and the rich tent are accurate...the tiger was added for this story. However, King Richard did keep a royal zoo of exotic animals in the Tower. The child Robin saved being Safadin's daughter was Cindy's idea...the tooth over the heart being thought to heal a broken heart was Ivan'oe's. The child's name is historically accurate. Please please please review!) **


	34. Chapter 34

Annie was worried. More than worried. She was sick with worry.

She hadn't seen nor heard from her lover, Guy of Gisbourne, in weeks! Rumor around the castle was that he was dangerously ill, under quarantine in his big house in Locksley Village, with only his physician Dr. Pitts allowed to see him.

Annie had seen Dr. Pitts herself, several weeks before. Guy had sent him to examine her, and he had, mostly by questioning her about her body. He had pronounced her "with child," as Annie knew he would. But she hadn't been able to see Guy to tell him!

Her belly now boasted a small swell, which she kept hidden under her loose gown. But she wouldn't be able to hide her condition much longer! She was frightened, all alone, and she needed Guy!

What if he should die from his contagion? Why, he would die without ever knowing about their baby! And what would happen to her, and to their child? He needed to get well, so she could tell him and he could marry her, as he had promised!

He would marry her, if only he would recover! He was a good man. Annie stubbornly clung to her insistance, reminding herself he was a good man, as she pushed away images insisting he was anything but. She had sometimes come upon him in the dungeons, surprised to witness him enjoying the brutal pain he inflicted upon others. And worse than that, she had actually seen him kill a man, plunging his sword through his body with cool detachment and a hint of pleasure and undeniable satisfaction. But no! He was a good man.

In spite of her anxiety and fear, Annie kept working, but the carrots she chopped today were washed by her falling tears.

...

"There it is, Gisbourne! The Port of Acre! I never expected to be back here so soon."

The Earl of Spencer stood on the deck of a ship, pointing out the approaching city of Acre, the largest city in the Holy Land, to Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Both men wore disguises, their bodies and heads clothed in local attire, their faces stained darker with walnut juice.

"See that tall tower?" Spencer asked. "That's called 'The Tower of Flies.' Want to know why?"

"No. We're here on a mission. I expect you to attend to it."

"We'll be successful...never fear. But first, what do you say we enjoy ourselves? Once we land, I can lead you to some of the most indecent pleasure hovels you've ever imagined."

"Lead me to the King...that will suit...And to Locksley."

"Locksley? Why do you want him? He won't join our side. I'd wager my life on it."

Gisbourne only sneered in reply.

Killing the King was his mission, by order of the Sheriff and Prince John. Killing Robert of Locksley, Earl of Huntington, was Gisbourne's own private mission, conceived and planned by himself. With Huntington dead, having no heirs, his lands and properties would pass to the Crown. With King Richard dead, the "Crown " would effectively be Prince...no, make that "King" John. And who better to receive "payment" for making John king than the man responsible?

Gisbourne would soon have it all...Locksley, Bonchurch, a lordship, an earldom...and the woman who went along with all of it...Marian.

...

Rachel held tightly to Robin's arm as they walked through the marketplace, his servant Much following behind, carrying her basket while he grumbled.

Robin was so wonderful, paying for whatever she needed. He was so handsome, and charming and kind! He said the most clever things! And he was a perfect gentleman, always treating her with courtesy and respect, well...mostly.

She knew her father and brothers would disagree...not just because Robin was a Christian, but because his compliments to her always resulted in kisses. Her family would be shocked if they had an inkling of just how successful his compliments were! She was a bit shocked herself. But how could she resist him? She didn't want to resist him! Her family must never, never find out!

She gazed into his twinkling blue eyes now, wishing he would make a move, and tried to listen as he told her about the cease fire.

"Robin, it's wonderful peace negotiations are going well. But...if there is peace, does that mean you will be going home?"

Much interrupted them. "Yes, Master...when can we go home?"

Like Much, Robin wished it could be now. Both men had been homesick ever since they had set foot in the Holy Land. He answered Rachel as honestly as he could.

"Not for some time. We'll need to stay and see the transition through first."

Rachel breathed a relieved sigh and squeezed his arm tighter. It was wonderful just to look at him, but she wanted to dart behind a stall so they could lose themselves in kisses. For some reason, he didn't seem interested in looking for a place where they could hide today. Oh, well, it was wonderful just being with him.

...

Gisbourne and Spencer, still in disguise, tried to blend in with the Saracens in the Acre marketplace. Gisbourne's commanding height garnered many stares, however, and he threatened Spencer to hurry up and find Locksley for him before their true identities were uncovered.

"There he is!" Spencer whispered. "That's him! Ha! See him there, with that Jew? Damn, I can't believe he'd be so low as to bed a Christ killer!"

"Where?" Gisbourne asked, curiously excited to view the man whose lands, titles, and properties he coveted.

"See the soldier with the pretty girl in the yellow turban? With that other soldier following behind? That's him! Warning: anybody wearing a yellow turban around here is a Christ killer. Stay away from them...they're lower than dogs."

Gisbourne peered at Locksley, memorizing every detail of his face and form, so he would be sure to recognize him when the time came to kill him. He sneered in disgust. "He looks easily disposed of."

"Don't let his size fool you. Granted, he's not as large as you, but what he lacks in size, he makes up for in courage, skill, strength, and...scrappiness."

" 'Scrappiness' never killed anyone," Gisbourne mocked.

"I warn you, Gisbourne, don't underestimate Locksley. He'll give you a battle you can't imagine, I promise you."

Gisbourne only sneered. Just wait until tonight. Gisbourne couldn't wait to spill Locksley's blood. He hadn't even met the man yet, and already he hated him as he had never hated anyone before.


	35. Chapter 35

Gisbourne was shaking. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him, causing his body to shake with hatred, rage, regret, anxiety, and something he hadn't felt since he was a child...fear. Cold and unexpected, unmitigating fear.

He swore as he dabbed a wet cloth at the deep scratch on his arm, wincing from the sting as he washed away his blood.

He had failed in his mission. Failed to kill the king, and why? It had all been Locksley's fault.

Everything had been so well planned, so perfectly thought out and timed. The Sheriff had told him he couldn't fail...the plan was foolproof. But he hadn't accounted for Locksley.

The man was a fiend! Gisbourne knew he had killed him! He had stabbed him through with his sword, and watched him as he fell dead in the sand, but the next thing Gisbourne knew, Locksley appeared in the king's tent, fighting him like a man possessed. Blood poured from his side, staining his white Templar tunic scarlet. Never had Gisbourne faced such a skilled and determined opponent! Locksley had kept him from killing the king, and had wounded him besides. As Richard awoke and rose from his bed, Gisbourne had no choice but to run for his life.

He had failed his mission. Richard still lived. Even if Locksley were to die from his wound, Gisbourne would not be awarded his lands. He would get nothing. He had failed, all because of Locksley.

And what would the Sheriff and Prince John do to Gisbourne now? He shuddered to think.

...

King Richard stood by the bedside of the soldier he loved better than any other, while Robin lay weak and wounded in a hospital bed. Warrior monks, the Hospitallers, attended his wound. They had believed their nursing duties were over, for the cease fire should have stopped the never ending flow of patients dying in their care.

Much was also at Robin's side, never leaving him, nervously fretting over his Master.

"He has a tattoo," Robin whispered, struggling to be understood. "On his arm. A black wolf head tattoo."

"Robin," the king's voice was soothing, hiding the fury he felt toward the unknown man who had done this. "Rest. It is your duty now to recover. Let others deal with the Saracen assassins."

This marked the end of the cease fire. Once again, Saladin had not kept his word. Richard's armies would strike back, and soon, with a vengeance.

Brother William De Conti, a Hospitaller Knight, begged the king's leave to let the patient rest. "Your Majesty, he needs to sleep."

The king withdrew, but Brother William knew better than to ask the loyal Much to go. He set up a cot for Much next to Robin's, and there the servant waited, praying day and night for his master to get well.

...

Much waited in vain. Robin's wound became infected, and he took a dangerous fever. He thrashed about on his cot in the hospital, haunted by visions and dreams that tormented him, speaking aloud in his delirium, the voice from his parched lips sounding hoarse and faint, the meaning of his words unclear.

"White lilacs," he whispered, smiling faintly.

"It's a bush," Much told Brother William. "A bush back home in Locksley. His mother's favorite flower. His lord father had it planted when Robin's mother died. But why would he mention it now?"

Brother William only shook his head. Only the good Lord could understand what was truly in men's hearts, or on their minds.

Often, Robin's delirium was horrrific. He appeared to be reliving the killing he had done here in the Holy Land over and over again.

"His soul is troubled," Brother William cried. "Why didn't he say how troubled he is? I could have offered absolution!"

"He won't talk," Much explained.

Days passed, while Robin barely clung to life. The king led his armies south, leaving orders for Robin to return home to fully recover, if he ever became well enough to travel. Much and Brother William remained behind to care for their dying friend.

Rachel had heard about Robin languishing in the hospital, and rushed to his side. Several of the Hospitaller monks tried to keep the young Jewess away, but Much asked Brother William to admit her into Robin's presence.

"Oh, no," she sobbed, when she saw how ill and frail Robin was. "Much," she cried, "he cannot die!"

She held his hand in hers, his once strong hand that was now so thin and weak.

Robin opened his eyes and looked at her. Eyes, bright with fever, lit up even brighter at her presence.

He struggled to speak, and Rachel leaned close to his lips to make out the words.

"I knew I would find you again," he murmured, and Rachel felt her heart leap in her chest.

"I must tell you," he continued. "Why did I never say it?"

"Say what?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle.

What he had to say seemed so important to him. Rachel leaned her ear even closer to his dry, parched lips.

"I love you."

Rachel gasped. Had she really heard him correctly?

"Robin, I love you, too! Oh, my darling, I truly love you!"

"My love," he whispered. "My Marian."

Rachel pulled away, her eyes filled with pain. She turned to Much.

"Who is Marian?" she asked.


	36. Chapter 36

"Marian? Who is Marian?"

Rachel turned her dark eyes upon Much, needing to hear, but dreading his explanantion.

"Marian?" Much colored and stammered nervously. "Well, that's difficult to explain, really. She's just, um...just...just...Marian."

"Marian," Robin croaked hoarsely from his bed, crying out desperately for her.

"It's alright. I'm here." Rachel felt willing to say anything to ease his discomfort. He seemed to relax, and even smiled the slightest bit. "My love," he sighed again, his damp hair matted by a fevered sweat against his brow.

"Tell me who she is, Much," Rachel pleaded, holding Robin's hand.

Much uttered a long, loud groan, pulling at his hair. "I knew this would happen! I knew it! And I knew it would fall to ME to have to do the explaining!"

"Is she someone from his home?"

"From our shire, yes. His childhood sweetheart...And more."

"How much more?"

He paused before answering.

"Everything more."

Rachel didn't know what to say. She fought back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "But I thought...I thought...he liked me."

"He does! It's just...he'll never stop loving her."

Much hesitantly explained Robin and Marian's history...their childhood friendship, their blossoming romance, their deep affection and love, their betrothal, with its abrupt ending. He explained how, while in the Holy Land, Robin had received word of Marian's betrothal to another, omitting the details of his behavior afterward...namely, his obnoxious outing with Legrand. He told her how Robin kept trying to forget Marian, but couldn't, and how he often spoke her name in his sleep.

Rachel guessed, "And if he never saw me again, I suppose he wouldn't even miss me?"

Although he hated being the bearer of bad news, Much was painfully honest. "He likes you, but he would be...just fine."

Rachel shut her eyes in pain. Drawing upon her courage, she opened them and said, "Take care of him for me, Much. Goodbye." Releasing Robin's clammy hand, she stood and walked slowly away. Neither Much nor Robin ever saw her again.

...

Back in England, Edward of Knighton worried over his daughter's future.

Men, worthy and unworthy, had come to present their suits to her, but Marian coolly sent them all away, much more politely than she had dismissed Sir Roger of Stoke. She regretted allowing her emotions to get the best of her when Roger had come calling, and she never lost control of herself again. She seemed determined to remain single, and calmly but firmly told her suitors so, claiming she was "not the marrying kind."

But now, she found herself besieged by another suitor who refused to be so easily dismissed. Sir Guy of Gisbourne had recovered from his fever, and paid frequent visits to Marian in her home, much to her chagrin. He pressed her to visit him at Locksley Manor, but so far, she had been able to put him off, stalling him with clever refusals.

Gisbourne's presence was so threatening, he scared away every other man who dreamed of calling upon the blue eyed beauty. Soon, he was the only man pursuing her, which he felt was his right. Although Marian was glad the other suitors had given up, she privately balked, annoyed by Gisbourne's sense of ownership.

"Be careful," Sir Edward warned his daughter. "Gisbourne is a dangerous man. We cannot risk offending him. Remember my friend, Sir Lawrence of Lincoln."

"Yes, and countless others, who have suffered at his hands. Never fear, Father, I will be careful."

And she was, smiling at Gisbourne and taking his arm when he offered it, though she couldn't dissemble so greatly she wouldn't remain quiet when she spotted injustice. Her father cautioned her her words couldn't change anything...they only drew the Sheriff's displeasure...but she refused to remain silent. She still believed her words meant something, and she used them to fight for justice. Sadly, she was the only person in the shire to speak up.

One day, she was in her yard practicing her swordsmanship when Sir Guy arrived, riding his black horse. Quickly hiding her sword, she greeted him.

"Sir Guy, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

He made a mental note to remember her phrase..."the pleasure of your company." He must remember to use that when he spoke with her. It showed breeding.

"Come to see you. Since you and your father moved from the Castle, I do not know whether you are well, or ill."

"We are quite well, thank you. And I am certainly glad you have recovered from your long infirmary."

Gisbourne sniffed. He wasn't sure what to say now. He hated feeling inadequate, especially because he found himself more and more drawn to the daughter of this house. Words were not his tool to wield when it came to winning a woman. His tools, always so effective with women of low birth, consisted of his appearance, his presence, and his dominance. But he couldn't very well use them on this noble maiden. But she was speaking.

"Is there anything else, Sir Guy? Could I offer you something to eat...or drink?"

"No. Come with me to Locksley. Get your cloak. We can eat there." Commands came naturally to him.

She struggled to think of an excuse to refuse him, but he clearly expected her to obey.

"We need to ride there now," he said.

"On your horse?"

Her dreadful surprise at what she believed he suggested was evident by the alarmed expression in her voice.

Why had she assumed he meant together on his horse? She must have been used to riding so. She must have ridden so in the past...with Locksley. A wave of jealous anger washed through him.

"We'll each ride separately. I believe that is custom."

Her relief at riding Vesper, while Sir Guy rode his own black charger, eliminated her objections, and they arrived shortly in Locksley village. There was a commotion, as several of Gisbourne's guards forcibly held Will and Luke Scarlet, while their father Dan pleaded for mercy.

Marian leaped from her horse.

"What is happening here?"

Gisbourne's Sergeant ignored her, addressing his master instead.

"These boys were caught stealing game. They're each about to lose a hand."

"No!" Marian cried. "You cannot cut off their hands! It is barbaric!"

"It is the law, milady." Gisbourne's Sergeant was businesslike.

"Go inside the manor," Gisbourne instructed Marian. "This is not for your eyes."

"They cannot lose a hand! You must stop this!"

Gisbourne's steely eyes looked at her, cool and detached. "They have no right to the king's deer. The forestry laws were put in place by the Conqueror. You know that. Only the king and his peers are entitled to hunt deer."

"But they are hungry! Surely, you can show them some leniency!" She paused, then admitted, "Besides, they are accustomed to taking what they need from the forest."

Gisbourne and his guards froze at her words. "What?" Gisbourne asked.

She gulped. "Robin's family was granted the right to hunt whatever they wanted on their own lands. But Robin himself allowed his people permission to hunt here, as well."

There was silence at her words. At last, Gisbourne spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Do you mean to tell me, Huntington let his peasants hunt the king's deer?"

"He thought it ridiculous to deny them. Why should he be the only one allowed to eat, when the forests teem with deer?"

"Because," Gisbourne stated, his voice growing stronger, "it is the law. He broke the law. I will inform the Sheriff, and when Huntington returns, he will be punished accordingly."

"Really? So you plan to cut off his hand, too? I dare you to try it."

Marian bit her tongue. Her anger and challenge would not help Will and Luke.

"Sir Guy," she continued more softly, "please. Show mercy to these youth. They are fine young men."

"Please, Sir Guy," Dan begged. "My sons need their hands!"

Gisbourne looked from the young men to Marian. Why should he show mercy? The Sheriff had taught him mercy was weakness.

He would not disappoint the Sheriff, especially now that he was "under probation" for having failed his mission to kill the king. Only Prince John had kept him from being executed for his failure. When the Prince had learned it was Locksley who had spoiled their plan, he seemed to understand, claiming to have expected as much.

But now, hands must come off, and it wouldn't do for Lady Marian to witness it.

"Justice must be served, milady," Gisbourne stated. "Go inside the manor."

"Take my hand instead," Dan pleaded.

"Dad, no!" Will cried.

"Please...I am old. Sir Guy, show some mercy, for Lady Marian's sake!"

Dan was desperate, but intelligent. He could see Gisbourne's weakness. Gisbourne clearly wanted to impress Lady Marian. Dan felt sure she would not mind letting him use her as a bargaining chip, if it would save his boys from losing their hands.

Gisbourne seemed to consider. The Sheriff wasn't here. He need not know. And surely, Lady Marian would be moved by his mercy.

"Very well," he stated. "Take the old man's hand instead. But next time they are caught stealing anything, the penalty will be severe." He offered his arm to a stunned Marian. "Come, milady. Shall we dine?"


	37. Chapter 37

Guy of Gisbourne strode down the castle steps on his way to the dungeons. Passing the kitchens, he hoped to avoid Annie. He didn't like seeing her, now that her belly was pumped out with his child.

Annie heard the jingle of his spurs as he passed, however, and hurried toward him.

"Guy! Oh, Guy! I've missed you!" She seized him in an embrace, and did not see his upper lip curl in disgust.

He removed her from his body. "Annie, I am busy today. Sheriff's business."

She sighed unhappily. He was always busy of late.

"I felt our baby kick today, Guy! Isn't it wonderful! When can we...when can we be married?"

"Soon. Now, I fear we must both get on with our work."

"Yes. Yes, of course, Guy." She watched him longingly as he turned a corner. She would wait here for him, and catch him on his way back, after he had finished his gruesome business in the dungeons.

She knew nothing about his pursuit of Marian, nor about the castle laundress his body now enjoyed whenever his urges prompted him.

...

Much supported Robin's weakened body, walking him up and down past rows of cots in the Hospitaller's hospital in Acre. Now that Much's constant prayers for Robin's recovery had been answered, he allowed himself to grumble that Robin was far from a grateful, ideal patient.

"Now, Master, there must be a reason you're called a 'patient,' but I must confess, I do not see it. You are anything but patient! You are not yet strong, Robin, and you must accept that. You can't go chasing after the king to fight his battles with him again. King Richard left orders for you to return home, so you may fully recover, before you go charging off into battle again. It's a sort of compliment really. I think the king wants to keep you alive. After everything you've done here, you should have been dead already, Robin...many times over.""

"I do not wish to return home, Much, not while the king needs me."

"Yes. Well...what is it you always told me you were instructed to be? Toward your king and country, that is?"

Robin sighed. "Loyal and obedient," he answered.

"That's right! Loyal and obedient! So, how is it being 'obedient' to disobey your king? Besides, if you ask me, we've seen more than our share of fighting around here. Do you really want to kill more Saracens, Robin? Do you? I know I don't."

Robin didn't answer. Much was right...he never wanted to kill anyone ever again. Much understood, to a small degree, how Robin's opinion had changed toward the fight in the Holy Land. Even though he still revered his king, Robin wanted no more part in the senseless, bloody slaughter.

"It will be good to go home," he admitted.

"Exactly! And if you continue mending at the rate you've been, it won't be long before we head there!" Much turned his big round eyes on Robin, smiling eagerly. "Just think, Robin...home!"

Robin did think, with a mixture of emotions flooding him. He longed for home with his whole heart, yet his heart was not whole. Not if Marian were married, as he guessed her to be by now.

They had been parted nearly five years. He was twenty-four...she would be twenty-two come summer. Why did he still feel this way? How could his heart care so much? He needed to forget her, once and for all.

He had survived numerous battles, a near fatal wound, and disease that would have taken any lesser man. Thank God he was finished with war...forever. He was young and alive. Women were drawn to him, he could tell. It was time he started enjoying himself.

Why should he take Love seriously? Was he not as good an archer as Eros? Better, probably. Love would be a game he could play...an exciting game, and it wouldn't disappoint, the way War had disappointed. The first rule was not to care. The second was to play along. If a beautiful woman fancied him, who was he to refuse her? He needed the protection of a slew of beautiful women behind him before he could go home. It seemed the only way he'd be able to face Lady Aylesbury when he'd meet her again in Nottingham.

...

The Nightwatchman crept toward the Scarlet home in Locksley with bundles to help the stricken family. She brought food packages, medicine, and wine to ease Dan's pain. She couldn't imagine the pain he must feel from having his hand chopped off.

Will and Luke Scarlet were both in their teens. Two teenage boys were bound to be hungry. Teenage boys always were. No wonder they had shot a deer. She remembered how she used to tease Robin about how hungry he and Much had always been when they were fifteen. Yet they had always had plenty to eat. What of the Locksley village boys...or any of the other poor hungry people in the shire? There were more and more of them destitute. It shouldn't be a crime for them to hunt. It should be a crime not letting them provide for themselves!

She shot an angry glance toward Locksley Manor, where Gisbourne had taken her to dine today. She hadn't been able to eat. The trauma of knowing Dan Scarlet had been right outside, enduring having his hand chopped off, had stolen her appetite.

Gisbourne had been offended when she wouldn't eat. Robin's servants had cooked a feast for her to enjoy with Gisbourne, but she hadn't been able to touch a crumb.

It was ironic there was so much food prepared for just the two of them, while the villeins right outside the door starved. It was wrong...evil, even.

"Don't insult me," Gisbourne had said when she refused the food, as if her lack of appetite reflected poorly on him. For her father's sake, she had tried to force down a few bites, but that was the best she could do. When she explained she had lost her appetite, Gisbourne ordered the food taken away to be fed to Robin's pigs. At that, Marian had objected.

"Sir Guy," she had appealed, "could we not invite the villagers to dine with us? They are hungry. They would not be forced to steal if they didn't have to. They are good, decent people."

Gisbourne had looked at her as if she had just uttered blasphemy.

"Why should they work, if they are coddled? They are lazy. That is the problem with this village. For too long, its people were coddled. They never learned to work. Now, they are starving. It is Huntington's fault."

The Nightwatchman continued her rounds. She listened wistfully to Alice Little sing a lullaby to her son John. The poor boy was lame, yet he worked alongside his mother in the fields...Robin's fields, now under Gisbourne's care.

When Robin had lived here, he had allowed his serfs to take as much grain as they needed, and everyone had more than enough. Most lords allowed their serfs to take as much as they could carry on the end of a scythe, which wasn't very much. But Gisborne allowed them to take none of it. They were expected to work in the fields, yet their labors benefited no one save Gisbourne. Was it any wonder their work suffered?

The lullaby was pretty, but sad. Marian fought back the sadness in her heart. What she wouldn't give to be singing a lullaby to children of her own! Every one of her imaginery babes looked just like...no.

Gisbourne was right. Her father agreed with him, and so did she. All the suffering in this village was indeed Robin's fault. Not because he had coddled them, but because he had deserted them. She held him responsible for his people's suffering, and for her own. She would never forgive him for leaving them.


	38. Chapter 38

On their way home at last, Robin and Much dined in splendor in Limassol, on the beautiful island of Cyprus. It was here more than four years before they had witnessed King Richard's marriage to Princess Berengaria of Navarre. The King had wed her here, rather than wait and have the ceremony when they arrived in the Holy Land, to avoid the presence of King Philip of France.

Philip had been furious at Richard for replacing the French Princess Alys with Berengaria, but Richard had good reason for casting aside his betrothed. Alys had been one of Richard's father's mistresses. She had even bourne King Henry a bastard child. The newly crowned King of England refused to crown Queen a woman who had insulted his mother Eleanor and bourne himself a half-sibling by bedding his father. The virginal Berengaria was a far superior match.

It was also here in Cyprus on their journey to the Holy Land that Robin had helped King Richard capture the Cyprus King Isaac Comnenus. Isaac had taken over Cyprus five years prior, with Saladin's blessing in a pact sealed by each of them drinking one another's blood. Isaac had blinded some of Richard's Crusaders for mere spite, and Richard would not let that stand. After two battles during which Robin distinguished himself, Isaac had been captured and bound in silver chains, for Richard had promised never to clap him in irons.

But now, years later, all battles behind them, Robin and Much enjoyed the sumptuousness of their suroundings. Much felt like a king himself, dining at a table beside Robin, and hearing Robin introduce him as "Lord Bonchurch." Hell was behind them. They could now begin to enjoy living.

"Master, you're not eating. Why are you not eating? This is some of the best lamb I've ever tasted."

Robin didn't say, but he wasn't feeling well. It was too soon after his illness for the rich foods and drink set before him, the dazzling brilliance of hundreds of lighted candles, the music of troubadours, the stuffy room filled with guests. Besides, many of the guests were beautiful women, and he was determined to begin his conquests, in spite of his dizziness.

His eyes scanned the ladies in the room. He had few criteria for his selection...any Beauty would do, as long she wasn't a blue-eyed brunette. In truth, he'd prefer someone who didn't appear an easy target for his charms. He always relished a challenge. But most of the women were looking at him invitingly, eager to be his for the night. Where was the fun in that? Well, he knew where the fun was, but where was the challenge?

At last he spotted her. A tall black haired beauty, haughty and aloof. Their eyes met...she did not blush, nor beckon, but seemed to try to wilt him with her proud gaze. Good! He smiled slowly. Would she melt, as women so often did when he smiled at them? She didn't! Even better! She was the one!

He stood, grasping the table to steady himself, as the room spun in circles.

"Master, where are you going?"

"Going to meet a friend."

Robin regained equilibrium, and approached the woman.

"Forgive me," he began. "Two bright stars, shining in your heavenly face, drew me to you."

It had worked! She was smiling. He was disappointed it had been so simple.

"My name is Robin of Locksley. I was in a hurry to return home, but the stars here are so lovely, I may tarry awhile in Cyprus."

"There are stars in Locksley as well, are there not?"

"None so brilliant as the two shining before me."

"Robin of Locksley...I have heard of you. Perhaps you're acquainted with my name, too. I am Lady Sybille, otherwise known as 'Melusine.' "

Robin's deliberate smile was replaced by his spontaneous grin. Melusine! Guy de Lusignan's wife! Countess of Poitou! What could be better?

Although they were supposed to be "brothers in arms," Guy de Lusignan was no friend to Robin. The overbearing noble resented young Locksley, for Sir Guy had unsuccessfully led the siege of Acre for two full years, only to see the city fall in under a month once Richard arrived with his bold archer.

Guy de Lusignan's wife was famous in her own right. Her beauty was said to be so powerful that legends had sprung up around her, the chief one being that she wasn't human at all, but a type of water sprite, whose legs would transform to a fish tail when submerged under water.

As he couldn't help doing, Robin compared her in his mind to his memories of Marian, and personally found her lacking. Still...Melusine! He had always wanted to meet her.

"I am overwhelmed," he confessed. "I've wanted to meet you ever since I heard the stories."

"And you wonder whether my limbs turn into a fish tail when I take my bath?"

He grinned. She found his combination of good looks, boyish charm, and manly grace irrestible. "Shall I have a bath drawn, and invite you to see for yourself?"

It was too easy. Once again, far too easy. Well, no sense complaining.

He bent to kiss her hand, but when he lifted his head, the room spun about him so quickly, he lost his balance. He stumbled a step, went pale, and passed out on the floor.

The guests in the room broke into spontaneous applause. "Bravo, Melusine! One kiss, and you slew King Richard's legendary archer! Bravo!"

Much leaped from his seat at the table and ran to Robin's side. "Master!"

Glaring at the silly nobles applauding Melu...whoever, Much cried, "This is no clapping matter! My master needs help!"

"Step aside," came a female voice from the crowd. "Let me see what ails the boy."

...

Robin awoke in a comfortable bed in a chamber he did not recognize. He groaned in delight, so pleasant the bed felt, after having slept on cots for years.

"There now, what did I tell you? He's awake." The motherly voice sounded confident and reassuring.

Robin blinked sleep from his eyes, and stared into the anxious face of Much and a woman he did not recognize.

She was an older woman with a motherly air about her. She lifted thick fuzzy eyebrows and revealed a few missing teeth as she smiled and declared, "I knew I'd soon put you to rights, my boy! Now, if I could only cure HIM of his troubles!"

"Cure me and you cure him," Robin laughed. "Isn't that right, Much?"

"That's right!" Much agreed, relieved at the heartiness in Robin's voice.

"Well, young squire, now that you see your master's right as rain, why don't you take yourself back to the feast? I'll keep watch here, and send for you if there's any change."

Much chewed his lower lip, trying to decide. Should he return? Could he? No, his place was with Robin...he'd better stay. But...Robin seemed just fine, and...the feast!

"Go, Much," Robin grinned. "Enjoy yourself."

When Much had gone, Robin sat up in bed to introduce himself and thank the woman. He balked and blushed when he realized he was completely naked under the blankets. Pulling the blankets more tightly around him, he gulped for air.

"There now, Lamb," the woman soothed, "don't you worry yourself. I needed to disrobe you to get your fever down. I didn't see anything I haven't seen before, except that nasty scar on your side. I've children older than you, son. Three boys...full grown men now."

Robin wasn't sure what to say. She made him feel as if he were six years old again.

She poked a bony finger at the tiger tooth he wore over his heart. "That's some trophy! I'd hate to be looking into the open mouth of the creature with teeth that size!"

He fingered the tooth proudly. "The best part is, I saved a little girl from its teeth."

"That so? Her name wouldn't happen to be 'Marian' now, would it?"

Robin sighed in exasperation. Trust Much to blather!

"I didn't think so," the woman smiled. "My name's Ruth, by the way. I'm pleased to meet you, Robin of Locksley. Now, before you go blaming your friend for talking, let me clear things up. It wasn't him who spilled your secret...it was you. Bless you, you called out for her while you lay sleeping here in my bed! 'Marian! Marian!' Not very flattering, young man, after the trouble I took getting you here!"

Robin stared down at his hands, angry at himself for his weakness. "I need to forget her," he said.

Ruth thought hard a minute. Eventually, she nodded her head, and said thoughtfully, "I know something that will help, if you'll let me try it."

Robin smirked. What could this old woman know of love, or its pain?

"Nothing helps," he sighed. "Not even this tiger's tooth. I was told wearing it would cure a broken heart."

"Were you now? Bless you, laddie, no tiger's tooth will fix you! What you need is a good healthy dose of Ruth!"

"What?"

"You heard me! Now lie still while I work my magic!" She peeled back the blanket and went straight to work.

The next few moments were some of the most surreal and embarrassing moments in Robin's life. Try as he might to object, he somehow couldn't make himself. The old girl had years and years of practice and experience on her side.

When she had finished, Robin lay back, mortified.

"There now, my fine one," Ruth grinned, watching him gasp for air. "How's your broken heart now? All nicely mended, I'll wager."

"No, ma'am," Robin squeaked.

"No? Well then, I guess Old Ruth will just have to have another go! Are you up for it, laddie?"

"NO!" Robin cried, leaping from the bed, wrapping himself in a pink blanket from the waist down.

Not finding his clothes, he decided it best to run from the room anyway. Dashing down the corridor, he bumped into Guy de Lusignan.

"Locksley! What's this I hear about you and my wife?" Lusignan drew his sword.

"Guy," Robin objected, "let me explain! I never touched your wife! I only-"

"Draw your sword, Locksley! I've wanted to have this out with you since you stole my victory from me! That medal you won at Acre should have been mine!"

Robin, wearing nothing but the blanket, was obviously unarmed, and he told Lusignan so.

"Guy! Look at me! Do I look like I'm armed?"

Suddenly, he saw Much running toward him. "Master!" Much cried, throwing Robin's sword to him.

Robin caught it by the handle, and began parrying with Guy de Lusignan, still grasping the blanket with his left hand. In no time at all, he had knocked his opponent's sword to the ground.

"Come on, Much," Robin cried, grinning now from the joy of his victorious fight, "let's board a ship and go home."

...

**(Note: Hadn't meant this chapter to end the way it did...the character Ruth just took over. Guess the old girl had her own ideas! The opening information is historically accurate, as is the information and mythology about Melusine. Hope you enjoyed! I love reviews!)**


	39. Chapter 39

Much was nervous. The ship he and Robin were sailing on had just docked in the Port of Messina to load and unload cargo before beginning its hazardous trek though the dangerous Strait of Messina. Robin glowingly told Much the waters here were said to contain the infamous and legendary Charybdis and Scylla...the first, a mythical six-headed monster...the second, a monster who took the form of a whirlpool that swallowed ships whole.

"You know, Master," Much complained, "sometimes I wish you'd keep your fanciful stories to yourself."

"But Much, it's exciting to know the dangers associated with a place, even if they are imaginery."

"Well, I don't see it. I'd prefer not to know. Why can't we just sit peacefully back and admire the scenery? Besides, I should think you've seen enough dangers these past few years to last you a lifetime!"

"It's said Ulysses _and_ Jason were attacked in this Strait, and Hercules swam right through it."

Much huffed. "Well, I'm sorry for the first two, and I hope they're home safe and sound now, enjoying a hearty bowl of stew and a tasty meat pie, but that other fellow..."

"Hercules-"

"Yes. Herk-U...whatever his name is, I hope he's learned his lesson! Imagine...swimming through here! He deserves a nasty leg cramp swimming these waters, and worse! Probably ruined a perfectly good suit of clothing! I suppose he expects his manservant to launder his clothing! Does he? Does he expect his manservant to launder his wet clothing, Robin, oi?"

"That's not the point, Much."

"Not to you, maybe! And not to that swimming fool, Herk Ulysses, either! You two sound like two of a kind, if you ask me!"

"Thank you, Much!" Robin was amused.

"Please!"

Along with the ship's other passengers, Robin and Much went ashore while the ship's 75-member crew handled the cargo and restocked water and food rations. The ship's Captain, Stephen de Turnham, brother to King Richard's High Admiral, explained to Robin they would remain docked in port no longer than three hours before resuming their journey.

"Three hours, Much! Just think! That gives us just enough time to explore!"

Robin was eager to see the town. The last time he and Much had visited Messina, on their journey to the Holy Land, there had been no time for fun. Their time had been spent restoring order, caused when riotous groups of Richard's Crusaders tried to plunder the town.

"Oh, no," Much objected, anxiety making him tense. "We stay right here, Robin. No running off exploring, no getting into scrapes, no losing track of time and missing the ship! Oh, no. We're not doing that! Now, what we need to do is sit right down on these lovely crates in the shade, and wait. You see? We can sit right here and watch the sailors take things on and off the ship. Won't that be fun? Master? Master...where are you going?"

"Come on, Much! Let's meet the locals."

"Oh, no, Robin! We're not going anywhere! We're going to sit right here and...Master? Master! Oh, why does he do this? Master, wait for me!"

...

In spite of his initial misgivings, Much had to admit Robin's idea to go exploring was not all bad. They were enjoying a wonderful day together, lighthearted as boys, with nothing dangerous or difficult having befallen them yet.

They were now seated in a tavern, dining on bread, fish, and wine.

"This is some of the finest fish I have ever tasted," Much raved. "Much better than that maggot infested food they expect us to eat onboard that ship!"

Just then, a small commotion unfolded right before their eyes. A child dressed in rags ran by, slipped and fell, right near Robin's feet. As Robin bent down to help the child, a second child swooped in from behind and deftly cut the purse hanging from Robin's belt.

It was a common scheme of child thieves working in pairs. One child served to distract, while the other stole the goods. However, this pair had never encountered a victim with such quick, catlike reflexes. Robin felt his purse being cut, and immediately grabbed it himself. With his other arm, he held the child who had tried to steal it.

"Whoa, there!" Robin cried in a soothing voice, "I'm not going to hurt you. You're welcome to the contents of my purse. But it's not right to steal. Now, if I give you the money, you must promise me not to take from others, unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Master, what are you doing? You can't give our money to these ragamuffins!"

"They need it more than we do, Much! Look at them," he said quietly. "Thin and dressed in rags."

"You're thinner...wasted away from your fever. I don't think it's a good idea, Master."

Robin just chuckled and handed his purse to the child in the crook of his arm, who leaped away and ran off, delighted but confused by the foreigner's generosity.

A priest dining at a nearby table laughed. Communicating with Robin in Latin, their common tongue, he cautioned, "You won't make friends with the tavern keeper by your foolishness, friend. He's tried everything to keep those urchins out of his place of business. Now that you've rewarded them, they'll never leave."

"All the same," Robin replied, "they must have needed my silver. They're only children."

The priest smiled and shook his head.

Just then, a serving wench appeared at Robin and Much's table to collect the fee for their dinner.

"Pay the girl, Much, would you?" Robin asked.

Much's eyes grew wider than ever. "Pay her? With what?"

The smile on Robin's face froze. "Don't tell me you didn't bring a purse."

"I won't! I'm not saying anything! But why should I have? You were the one carrying money! Besides, we weren't supposed to leave the docks!" Pulling his cap down over his ears in frustration, Much cried, "I knew something like this would happen! I knew it!"

"Now, Much," Robin replied calmly, "don't be alarmed. I'm sure we can work this out with the tavern keeper." He gave the serving wench an appealing look. "We seem to be short of funds," he explained, in Latin. "Is there any way we might work for our meal?"

The woman merely scowled and held out her hand to be paid. She spoke no Latin.

Robin addressed her in French, but she continued scowling. "I doubt she speaks English, or Arabic. Looks like I'm all out of languages, funds, and luck!"

"This is no smirking matter, Robin! Unless you think of something fast, I'd say Trouble has found you once again!"

"It always seems to, doesn't it?" Robin chuckled.

The serving wench did not appreciate his laughter. She stormed away, returning shortly with the brawny tavern keeper.

The man barked something in Sicilian at the former Crusaders.

"Master, what do we do?" Much asked.

Robin appealed to the priest. "Father," he asked in Latin, "would you be so kind as to translate for us?"

" 'A fool and his money are soon parted,' " the priest quoted. "You, my foolish friends, are on your own."

Robin tried gesturing to the tavern keeper, holding up his palms to indicate they could not pay, then gesturing performing various types of chores. The tavern keeper understood, but was enraged. His face turned purple, and he instructed his serving girl to fetch guards to arrest the two men whom he believed were trying to swindle him.

"Don't worry, Much," Robin grinned. "Don't forget, Queen Joan likes me!"

"Yes, she does! But what good is that going to do us, with her visiting her brother King Richard in the HOLY LAND?"

The serving girl returned, followed by five armed guards.

"Run, Robin?" Much asked. "Run?"

They leaped to their feet, and darted, kicked, and punched their way past the guards. They continued racing throught Messina's twisted streets, getting lost down alleys, and finding their way back again, until they finally arrived at the docks, only to see their ship already sailing from the port.

"No!" Much whined in dispair. "Come back! Robin...our ship! Our way home! No!"

Robin didn't hesitate for a moment. His eyes lit up as a grin stretched across his face. He handed Much his sword and bow, along with his quiver of arrows. "I'll send a tender craft to carry you to the ship, once I've reached it," he promised, before leaping into the sea.

Much watched in agony as Robin swam toward the ship. "Master, no!" he cried. "You can't swim through the Strait of Messina! You can't! You'll be eaten by that...that Cherry dish monster you told me about, or that other one!"

Much plopped himself down on a crate in the shade, watching his master glide effortlessly through the water, like that wretched Herk Ulysses fellow. "Hmm!" he huffed. "And just who will launder your ruined clothing now, Master? I knew we shouldn't have gone exploring! I knew it!"

...

**(Note: Thanks to CindyUSA for the idea for this chapter!)**


	40. Chapter 40

"Well blah dee blah dee blah! See to it, Gisbourne. Out of my way, you blithering oafs!"

The Sheriff of Nottingham stepped away from his Council of Nobles, fed up by his nobles' incompetence to gather as many taxes as he desired. His birds could probably do a better job raising tax money, if given the chance!

Marian was relieved the session was over for today. Like the other nobles present, she had held her tongue, allowing the Sheriff to push through his evil plans. She was learning her words did no good, but could only hurt herself and her father. She hated feeling so spineless, but what could she do? She had been the only person whose words had dared defy the Sheriff. With no one to inspire her, she had given up. Even her activities as the Nightwatchman seemed hopeless, and she rarely ventured forth at night to help the poor now.

Oh, no. Martin of Aylesbury was strutting towards her, proudly flaunting a new crimson and gold cape.

"Lady Marian, my lady WIFE tells me Sir Roger of Stoke's father has recovered, and Stoke's on his way back to the Holy Land."

The Holy Land! Would Roger tell Robin she had claimed she wanted him never to come home?

She spoke calmly. "I am very pleased to learn his father is well again."

"Can you guess what pleases ME? My lady WIFE will shortly present me with an HEIR! I believe congratulations are in order."

"Congratulations."

Marian saw Martin's face pale, and watched as he yelped and scurried away. Even if his fear hadn't given it away, she would have felt the looming presence of Sir Guy of Gisbourne hovering behind her.

She turned and gave Gisbourne her little half smile. At least he was good for scaring Aylesbury off.

Gisbourne's eyes, always so proud and intense, looked clouded today. Marian was intrigued. Gisbourne's gaze never gave away any sign of vulnerability. She wondered what could be troubling him. She would do her best to find out...the knowledge might somehow prove useful.

"Sir Guy? Is everything alright?"

Gisbourne immediately replaced the mask he typically wore, hiding his true emotions behind his ice cold confidence.

In truth, Aylesbury's words had upset him, reminding him of the burden Annie was inflicting upon him. The child in her belly continued to grow. One day, Annie would give birth, if she and the brat didn't die in the process, and Gisbourne felt sure she would not hide his paternity. She would force him to deal with the issue. He must think of something. It wouldn't do for the Sheriff, or Lady Marian, to know he had fathered a bastard on a kitchen girl.

"When do you and your father return to Knighton?" Gisbourne asked, ignoring Marian's concern and curiosity.

"As soon as the rain lets up," she smiled. "Until then, I suppose we are guests at the Castle."

Gisbourne's face betrayed the slightest hint of a satisfied smile. Good! She wouldn't be rushing away immediately.

"Well then," he said, using the phrase he had practiced until it sounded natural on his lips, "perhaps you will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner tonight."

...

Robin awoke, in a bed in a room in an inn in Genoa. In the early morning light, he made out the long vivid red hair of the young woman sleeping naked in the bed with him. He had met Ursula yesterday in the town square, had rescued and protected her, finally succumbing to her lusty invitation, which is why he awoke beside her today. It was the first time he had ever spent an entire night in bed with a woman, and it felt very awkward.

He realized his body was perched on the very edge of his side of the bed, as if he were trying to avoid contact with her. That couldn't be the case! Last night, they had thoroughly enjoyed each other, yet, all the same...here he was, as far from her as he could possibly be, short of leaving the bed.

Quietly sliding his feet to the floor, he rose and quickly dressed. Next, he stepped outside for a walk in the fresh air, eager to sort out his thoughts.

He hoped he had not offended her. After they had made love, he had rolled away, not thinking, and had been ashamed of himself when he heard her ask him to hold her. "Of course," he had said, but it wasn't right that she had had to ask. He should have thought of it himself.

He also hoped he had slept quietly, and not embarrassed himself by crying out in his sleep. He couldn't remember suffering from nightmares last night, or enjoying dreams. His thoughts seemed empty, as empty as his heart.

Why this sense of emptiness? Why should he miss Marian more than ever, after giving and receiving so much love last night?

He knew why. It was because what he had felt and done last night had nothing whatsoever to do with love.

He wanted love...real love. He needed it. Needed it desperately.

All the same, he didn't regret what he had done. After his nightmarish encounter with Ruth in Cyprus, he'd buried his natural desires for women, but Ursula's insistence had brought his desires back. He'd had fun with her, and learned a few things as well.

They'd met yesterday in Genoa's Market Square, where Ursula was plying her trade reading palms and telling fortunes to the city's many travellers who passed through its busy port. Robin and Much's ship was docked for several days in Genoa's Port Antico, and the two men wandered the twisting lanes and dank blind alleys of Genoa, looking for amusement. Ursula's bright red hair had attracted Robin's attention.

"Much, I think I'd like my palm read," he mentioned, as casually as possible.

"Oh, please! You're not going to fall for the lies those charlatans tell, are you, Master? They make up anything, just to take your money."

"It's just for fun. Let's see how accurate that girl can be."

Robin, with Much following closely behind, had approached Ursula, handed her a coin, and held out his palm.

"Francais?" she guessed, trying to see which language she should use.

"Ha!" Much cried. "This will be good! Some fortune teller! Can't even guess the right country!"

"English," she affirmed.

Much was surprised. "How did she know that? Maybe she really can read fortunes!"

Robin chuckled. Much's language and accent had given them away. But, for some reason, Robin thought it would be more fun to speak to her in French. He did so, as she held his hand and peered into his palm.

"I couldn't help but notice your eyes," he began, in perfect French. "They shine like two bright stars in your heavenly face."

"My eyes? Most men don't notice my eyes, which are quite ordinary. They do notice my hair, however."

Much didn't like not understanding what was being said. He could guess their intentions, however, by the looks passing back and forth between the two of them. He rolled his eyes and huffed exasperatedly.

"Interesting," she mused, tracing a finger across the lines on his palm. "Your love line is very pronounced."

Robin bit his lower lip, then sighed.

"You love someone?" she asked.

"No," he lied sadly. "Not anymore."

Ursula smiled knowingly. "You court danger, is that not so?"

"You're very good," he grinned.

"I am," she agreed. "Very, very good." She gave him a provocative look, hoping he understood her implication.

Just then, two priests approached, accompanied by several guards. "Have we not banned your blasphemy from the market square, Witch? Did we not tell you, should we ever catch you here again, practicing your devil's work, we would throw you in prison? Guards, arrest the witch!"

Ursula cowered, and Robin instructed her, "Get behind me." When Much saw him draw his sword, he drew his own as well.

Fighting their way past guards, they pulled Ursula to safety. For awhile, they hid in La Lanterre, the city's one hundred-year-old lighthouse.

It was exciting to be hiding so high up, enjoying such a beautiful view of the harbor, the sea, and the city, watching the guards below hunt for them in vain. Ursula was completely taken by the handsome and daring knight who had rescued her. His ridiculous line about her eyes had not fooled her, but she appreciated his other "virtues." If his manservant had not been with them in the ligthouse, she thought she would have caused it to rock so hard, waves might have flooded Genoa.

When it grew dark, the knight...he had told her his name was "Robin of Locksley," but she knew better than to trust he would give out his real name...had offered to walk her home, but she told him she had none. When he heard she typically slept on the streets, he offered to let her spend the night in an inn where he and his servant were staying. "Robin" seemed all fresh and clean, sweet and uncorrupted, but she sensed fire under the "good boy" exterior. And she hadn't been disappointed. There was fire there, alright...a blaze of fire.

Now it was morning, and he was gone. Naturally.

A tentative knock on the door shook her from her reverie.

"Master?" The servant's voice travelled through the door. She answered him in the little English she knew.

"He's no here."

"Not here? Where is he? Where's Robin? What have you done with my Master?" The servant pushed open the door, and Ursula hid her body under the covers.

At least the servant had the manners to blush. "Oh, excuse me," he said. "I didn't know you'd be...be... Where's Robin?"

At that very moment, Robin himself walked in. "Morning, Much. Would you mind if I had a word with Ursula in private?"

...

After Much had grudgingly gone, Robin asked, "What can we do to help you? You're not safe in this city. And, you need somewhere to sleep at night. You shouldn't be sleeping on the streets."

"You've already helped me enough."

"My ship sets sail today. Would you like..."

She waited. Was he inviting her to travel with him?

He continued, after a thoughtful pause. "Would you like to stay at this inn awhile? I can pay for a room for you, for as long as you'd like."

She shook her head, disappointed. Oh, well, it was too much to ask.

"No, I'll find my own way. I think I'll try Pisa next."

"Here, at least let me buy you breakfast." He offered her some money, but she refused.

"Not unless you let me finish reading your palm. I earn my own way."

He smiled and nodded, pleased by her pride. "Very well," he agreed, holding out his palm. "So, tell me, what lies in my future?"

She studied the creases on his palm. "Some new friends, some new enemies, a new home."

"Sounds interesting. What else?"

"A change in your fortunes."

He smiled. That sounded like standard fortune telling fair. "Anything else?"

She looked deeply into his eyes. "You want to know about Her, don't you?" She saw his eyes change color...his pupils expand and contract. But he didn't speak a word.

Ursula was brave, but far from noble. She guessed what she believed was the truth.

"She couldn't wait," she made up. "You were away for just too long."

She didn't realize how greatly her words would wound him. He yanked away his hand, left the money, and was gone.


	41. Chapter 41

"Robin of Locksley! Welcome to Acquitaine! My son King Richard informed me he had ordered you home to recover. How nice of you to vist me in Poitiers on your way home."

Queen Eleanor smiled beneficently at Robin, who kneeled before her throne in the Palace of Poitiers. She was truly pleased to see him alive and well, after his close brush with death in the Holy Land. Robin was a treasured friend of most of the Royal Family, and a personal favorite of the Queen's since he had first visited her late husband Henry's London Court as a boy.

"Tell me, Robin," she coaxed, "how did you find the Crusade?" Before he could answer, she boasted, "I remember well the previous one. They say I caused quite a few scandals...divorcing Louis and marrying Henry in the middle of it. Did you ever hear how I dressed up as an Amazon and inspired our troops? I doubt you saw anything under my son's leadership to compare with the sight of me wearing the skin of a leopard astride a horse!"

"I am truly sorry I missed that sight, Your Majesty. Though, with all courtesy, King Richard inspires without lovely visions."

She smiled proudly, pleased by Robin's compliments to herself and her son. "He does indeed. Would you agree my son is always the first to charge and the last to retreat?"

"I would. It was my honor to follow him."

"High praise indeed, for you've always been quite a leader yourself."

She rose from her throne. "Come," she commanded, "we must dine. You are thin, Robin."

He grinned. It was good to be back in her motherly presence, enjoying her friendly scoldings. He happily led her to the Great Hall, where they would feast with her Court.

...

Much stood behind Robin's seat at table, attending him through the meal. Though Robin had offered to present him as Lord Bonchurch, Much had objected.

"No, Master, not yet. Not until we're safely home in Locksley, and you're surrounded by your other servants. Who's going to look after you here, if I don't?"

"I don't need looking after!"

"Please! Have you forgotten what happened to you in Limassol, when you introduced me as Lord Bonchurch there? Have you, Master? Have you forgotten RUTH?"

That indecent reminder brought the conversation to a screeching halt.

Much enjoyed the music in Queen Eleanor's Court. This was the birthplace of the troubadours, musicians as necessary to the Queen as her ladies-in waiting or her guards. Much listened raptly to their songs, committing them to his memory. Surely Robin would appreciate him learning the words and tunes! He could entertain his Master with the songs on the remainder of their journey home! Wouldn't Robin be pleased?

...

While Robin dined, he had the distinct impression his every move was being watched. When he'd look up to scan the Hall, he did not notice anything unusual, or anyone watching him. All the same, he couldn't shake the feeling.

He knew someone was staring. He'd spent too long in battle to ignore his instincts. They were as sharp as an animal's.

Ahh! At last he'd caught the culprit! It was a woman seated across the Hall. The moment his eyes caught hers staring, the woman looked away.

Queen Eleanor smiled slyly. "You must go and greet her," the Queen instructed. "You and she are old friends."

"Your Majesty?"

"Go," Eleanor commanded.

And so, though Robin had no clue whom he was ordered to approach, he rose and crossed the Great Hall, to greet the unknown woman. He could feel the Queen's amused gaze on him all the way across the chamber.

When he reached the woman, he bowed his head politely and said, "I am Robin of Locksley. Her Majesty instructed me to greet you."

"I know exactly who you are, Robin," came a low, husky, familiar voice from his past. "You are heartless...not recognizing me. Surely you haven't forgotten. And by the way, you have lived up to your youthful promise. You're even lovelier than you were so many years ago, when we were such good friends."

Robin closed his eyes and laughed to himself. Was Life playing a cruel joke, or was this his penance for his tryst with Ursula?

"Lady Catherine Woodward," Robin smirked. The despicable somewhat older woman who had unsuccessfully tried to seduce him so many years ago held no charm nor beauty for him now. She looked hardened, and there was a cruel set to her mouth. Robin wondered how he could have ever found her attractive.

"You really must forgive me, Robin, after all this time," she said, her voice still tempting. "After all, how would you have behaved if someone eight years younger than yourself had rejected you?"

"Considering I was only a lad at the time myself, I would have probably tattled to her mother and watched the little six-year-old get a spanking." Excusing himself, he returned to sit next to the Queen.

"Never fear, Robin," Queen Eleanor counselled, "I'm sure you've gained enough savvy in battle to fight off the attentions of Lady Catherine now. I doubt she'll even try to lure you. You're no longer a boy."

"Good. I didn't journey hundreds of miles out of my way to engage in romantic intrigue. I came here solely to see you, Your Majesty."

"Don't be too hasty to underestimate romantic intrigue, Robin. For instance, what think you of Lady Marguerite? She has been admiring you all evening."

Robin glanced at the sophisticated brunette the Queen had indicated and sighed. "Your Majesty, is there nothing else to do in Acquitaine?"

"This is the Seat of the Court of Love, Robin. I established it here, myself. While in Acquitaine, you must abide by its laws." She looked amused by his bewildered expression. "But never fear. This palace also houses an excellent library, if you desire to steer clear of...other pursuits."

"Well then," he smiled, "would you please point me in the direction of the books?"

...

Robin was amazed. He had never beheld so many manuscripts housed together under one roof. Books were rare and precious objects, available only to the very wealthy or to members of the clergy. Each and every manuscript had been written painstakingly by hand, and illustrated with magnificent works of art.

The room containing the books was a quiet place, almost like a chapel in its stillness. Robin, feeling himself completely alone, walked slowly up and down the aisles of books, wondering what treasures their pages contained.

He suddenly realized he was not completely alone in the room. His superb sense of hearing and finely attuned instincts warned him he was being stalked. He took a step, certain he'd heard a footfall in another aisle. He didn't breathe, but only listened. Yes, someone else was here, and didn't want him to know it. His fingers itched for his sword hilt.

He turned down another aisle, only to spy a lady in peril. Not very serious peril, but peril nonetheless. His "stalker" was the Lady Marguerite whom the Queen had pointed out to him at dinner. She had pulled a book from an upper shelf, loosening those next to it, so that the entire row threatened to come crashing down upon her. Robin leaped to the rescue, grabbing the stack of books before it landed on her head.

"Careful!" he warned, laying the books down.

"Oo! But you are quick! How could that have happened? I fear I am clumsey!"

Robin couldn't resist flirting. She had obviously followed him here. "Lovely, rather. Even the books fall to your charms." He gave her his most charming smile. "I am Robin of Locksley."

"Yes, I know. You are the Hero of Acre."

"Is that why you followed me to the library, or were you just looking for a good book?"

She lightly laughed in answer. "I am Lady Marguerite, and you are unkind to point out my plan. It is better for you to pretend not to notice, and pretend to seek to win me for yourself. That is, if you are so inclined."

Robin looked uncomfortable.

She feigned dismay. "Ah! I do not please?"

"No, it's not that. It's only-"

"-You have someone else?"

He sighed. "No. There's no one. I just-"

"You were not injured in battle...that way?"

"No, of course not."

"Then you do not like me! I am convinced!"

"We've only just met!"

"And you do not like me!"

Robin sighed, looking about the library for another excuse, wishing he'd let Much come along, instead of sending him to the servant's hall to eat. Oh, what was the use? Reading had lost its appeal anyway.

...

That night, Robin awoke, drenched in sweat and trembling. His mind had plunged him back into the nightmare of Acre. He'd heard the screams of the wounded, seen the men in bits, felt himself covered by their blood. He sat up in bed, staring into his shaking hands, seeing them crimson with the blood of thousands.

A female voice penetrated the mists of his agony. He turned unseeing eyes on Marguerite, who stared at him in horror.

"Get out!" she cried in fear and anger. "Get out of my chamber! You are mad! Leave me, now!"

...

**(Note: All the tidbits about Queen Eleanor are historically true. She did cause several scandals during the Second Crusade, including her Amazon costume, and her divorce from the French King Louis. There were even rumors that she had an affair with Saladin, but this is thought to be untrue.) **


	42. Chapter 42

England!

Robin and Much had landed at Portsmouth at last, and had been travelling northward on foot for several days. The journey had been fraught with adventure, with Robin risking his neck to help other travellers fight off would-be thieves, push carts out of mud ruts, and share everything he had with the needy.

"Now, Master, no stopping! We just keep walking! No heroics, no...anything else. We just keep moving our feet, and we'll soon be home!"

"We have to stop and eat, Much."

"Well, there is that. But no heroics! Promise me, Master, no heroics."

In lieu of an answer, Robin infuriated Much with a cocky smirk.

They were approaching the market town St. Albans, with its enormous Benedictine Abbey, its school, and its excellent alehouses and taverns. They had chosen to avoid London, for Robin had no desire to see Prince John. As they neared St. Albans, they were pleased to see a fair in progress.

"A fair! What luck!" Much cried. "I do love a fair!"

"I thought you said, 'No stopping.' "

"That was before I knew there was a fair. Please, Master! Please may we stop? Please?"

Robin grinned assent. An English fair would be fun. It represented home, even if it was in Herefordshire. And, there was sure to be an archery competition!

Much sniffed the air, his face rapt with joy.

"Unless I'm mistaken, I smell meat pies!" He spotted a stall beside a cook fire. "There, Robin! Let's buy some! I could do with a tasty meat pie just now! Hmm...I hope they have beef!"

Robin grinned, but not jauntily. "Well, until I think of a way to pay, smelling is all we'll be able to do."

"Wh-wh-wh-what do you mean, think of a way to pay?"

"I mean, Much, we've run out of money."

"What? Oh, surely not! Master! We can't have run out of money! I mean...you're rich! What about you saying we needed to stop and eat? What about that?"

"I was planning to hunt...shoot something to eat."

"Master! Where's your money? You didn't lose it, did you?"

"No, Much, I didn't. My money's home in Locksley, where we're heading. As for the money we brought for the journey...it's all been spent."

"No! No! Surely not! I knew you shouldn't have given those beggers our money, Robin! I knew it!"

"They were hungry, Much."

"Well, what about my hunger? Who's hungry now, Robin, oi?"

Travelling through England, Robin and Much had been dismayed by the level of poverty they encountered. They were glad they lived in Nottinghamshire, where conditions had always been more prosperous. Things surely hadn't been so bad in the south on their outward journey! Perhaps they simply hadn't noticed, being so excited leaving for the Crusade.

But they noticed now. Every town they traveled through seemed filled with hungry, desperate citizens. Robin's heart was moved, and he passed out his silver to anyone who asked him.

He quickly now tried to silence Much's complaints. "Don't worry, Much. I have a plan."

"A plan? What sort of plan?"

Robin grinned. "This is a fair, right? Well, what good's a fair without an archery competition?"

Much immediately caught on. "An archery competition! And you intend to enter, and win the prize money?"

"Me? Win? Do you really think I can?" He laughed joyfully. "Now, I don't know about yours, but my flask is empty. See if you can fill them up at the well, while I-"

He paused. Why not let Much enjoy the fair, while he filled up the flasks? Much had certainly earned it.

"On second thought, I'll fill the flasks. You go enjoy yourself."

Much smiled, and took himself off to mingle with the festive crowd, while his master waited in line at the well.

Wine cost coin and ale was cheap, but water was free. While Robin waited his turn, he listened to the peasants grumbling around him.

"I know he's our prince, but he has some nerve showing his face here, while he takes and takes our money."

"What's he going to tax next? The very air we breathe?"

"Now, you know the money's going to good King Richard and his troops."

"Is it? How do we know that? Besides, if Richard is so good, why isn't he here, caring for us? Why did he leave us under the thumb of his brother Lackland?"

Robin lifted his brows. He didn't like hearing anyone criticize his king. The people's anger about taxes was unjustified, wasn't it? Richard's taxes were fair. He didn't need any more money for his troops. They had managed to capture loads of Saracen wealth on their raiding parties, intercepting camels weighted down with packs of jewels and goods enroute to and from Egypt. There had been more than enough to finance their Crusade, and keep the troops well fed.

All the same, he knew better than to criticize these good people, even in his mind. They didn't look well, and he felt for them. He wondered how much prize money he would win, and how he could distribute it fairly amongst them. After all, he and Much didn't need it. He'd return to his original plan, and shoot something in the forest for their dinner.

...

Much meadered from booth to booth, wishing more and more for some money to buy something tasty to eat. Oh, well, once Robin won the archery competition, they could purchase whatever they wanted.

He spotted a pretty blond, alone behind a booth of pots of jams. Hmm, why should Robin have all the fun? Much cleared his throat, adjusted his cap, and tried his best to swagger like his master.

"Good day," he ventured.

The lass perked right up. "Good day," she smiled, indicating she liked what she saw. "Care to buy any jam? It's very good...you can spread it on anything, and just lick it off."

She had the features of an angel with the expression of the devil. Much found it quite a combination, though he completely missed her naughty implication.

"I'm Much, and I promise to buy pots and pots of it, as soon as I have money."

"Well, Much, my name's Clorinda, and I'm asking, just when do you expect that to be?"

"Just as soon as my master wins the archery competition."

She hooted. "Too bad! You won't be buying any jam today! My brother's the best archer in these parts. There's no one what can beat him!"

Just then Robin approached, handing Much his flask. Clorinda's interest immediately shifted from the servant to his master.

"Hello," she cooed. "Care to sample some jam? It's delicious." She dipped her finger in a pot and pulled it out, dripping with the sticky substance. "Taste," she offered, holding her finger out.

Robin stepped back, smiling but blushing. "That is very kind, but we're short of money at the moment."

"But we'll be back to buy some when he wins at archery," Much insisted.

There was a flurry of activity as a blare of trumpets blasted, announcing the arrival of Prince John. Robin drew his hood over his head and whispered, "Now, what's he doing here?"

"Come to host our fair," Clorinda answered, "though he'll find no welcome in St. Albans."

"Master," Much asked anxiously, "don't tell me this means you're not competing?"

"Of course I'm competing! I just need to wear a disguise."

"A disguise! Master, surely not!"

"What are you, some kind of outlaw?" Clorinda was intrigued.

Much, however, was indignant. "An outlaw? An outlaw? My master is no outlaw, I think you'll find! My master is the finest and most loyal subject King Richard could ever have! My master-"

"If he's no outlaw, then what's he want to go hide his face for?"

"Never you mind. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to speak with Prince John. Maybe that's the reason, but you wouldn't understand."

Much realized this was no way to be friendly with Clorinda. He hadn't meant to huff, but...the outrage! His master...an outlaw! Really! It was revolting!

"Now," Robin said, thinking, "what can I wear as a disguise?"

Clorinda offered a suggestion. "Here," she said, reaching into a basket under her table. "When I'm not hawking jam pots, I'm a shepherdess. Here's some wool, fresh sheared." She began tucking wads of it under Robin's hood. "It'll make some fine hair." Dipping her finger back into a pot of jam, she spread some on Robin's surprised face, then applied wool to the sticky mess. "There!" she approved. "Now you look like a proper old gent! Your own mother wouldn't know you."

"Alright then," Robin laughed. "Thank you, Clorinda!"

"You can compete now, but you'll never win. My brother'll beat you. He's the best what is."

Robin grinned. Even better! He never could resist a challenge.


	43. Chapter 43

Allan a Dale grumbled to himself as he strode through the forest.

"My horse! My purse! My sword! If I never see you again, Tom a Dale, it'll be too soon!"

He had awakened in the morning alone, only to find himself robbed by his own brother and their two friends! The four of them had been on the run, fleeing a town after its citizens uncovered their deception pretending to be mendicant priests, but not before they had collected plenty of alms and Allan had kept company with a friendly nun or two.

Now, everything they had "earned" was gone, stolen by Tom for his own ends. How did he expect Allan to live?

And what had Tom left him with? A ha' penny! One stinkin' ha' penny! Not bein' funny, but that wouldn't buy him a square meal in a roundhouse!

Allan plopped down on a log, resting his weary feet. What he wouldn't give to have his horse back! Granted, he had stolen the horse himself in the first place, along with the money and the sword. But he'd had them long enough to feel they were his. Now, thanks to Tom, he had nothing. Oh, wait. He still had a ha' penny. Lovely!

Never one to sit around feeling sorry for himself, Allan optimistically knew he would be alright, starting over again. Not being funny, but what he needed now was to find a way to eat. He also needed a weapon. England was a dangerous place, especially its forests, and only a fool would remain unarmed for long.

He doubted he'd be able to steal another sword. A bow would be easier. Gents left them outside their doors, leaning up against their cottages. Yes, a bow would have to do for now. With a bow and some arrows, Allan could catch something to eat.

He nodded his head, determined. He may be down, but it would take more than this to put Allan a Dale out. He felt certain his luck was about to change.

...

Back in St. Albans, Prince John was giving a speech to the crowd, who watched him scowlingly.

"Lovely people," the Prince announced dramatically, "how blessed you are to have me, your prince, honor your little fair by my radiant presence. My attendants will be circulating amongst you, collecting the taxes you owe me, so when you see them, be sure to reach deeply into your purses and pay your dues. If not, we may need to have a little chat, and I don't like chatting with peasants. I may not be very pleasant. Just a word of warning...nothing personal. And now, enough of the morris dances...enough of the minstrels' music...enough of the cock fighting and bear baiting...enough of the juggling and javelin tosses...I wish to watch the archery competition!"

A crier proclaimed, "Will all those competing in the archery competition take their places!"

"There's my cue," Robin said jauntily, excusing himself from Much and Clorinda. Just as he was about to go take his place, he had an inspiration. "A kiss for luck," he requested, and Clorinda kissed him through his wooly whiskers, while Much gaped in shocked disapproval. Then, adopting the slow gait of an old man, Robin took his place in line.

A large, hearty blond yeoman turned and laughed at him. His overbearing confidence and angelic features pointed him out as Clorinda's brother.

"Step aside, old man," he ordered. "This is a young man's sport. It takes a keen eye to hit the target."

"My eyes may be old," Robin wheezed in an aged voice, "but they're still sharper than your wits."

"Is that so? Are you calling me 'stupid?' "

"Eh? I'm not calling you anything, not having learned your name."

"I'm Clym, and I intend to win today. I'm the best archer in these parts. Never lost a competition yet, and I don't intend to start today. So, stop wasting our time and embarrassing yourself, old man. Go sit in the shade with the other old codgers."

Robin chuckled under his woolen whiskers, until a bee began to buzz around his face. The jam! The bee was attracted to the jam! Robin waved it aside, hoping it wouldn't bring its friends.

The archers took turns firing arrows, and after the first round, all were dismissed except for two...Clym of the Clough and Robin of Locksley, who was shooting under the alias Simon of the Lee. Much figured Robin must have Marian on his mind again...Richard of the Lee was her uncle, and his aged manservant had been called Simon. When they had been children, Robin had made Much and Marian laugh uproariously by perfectly mimicking Simon's slow walk and cracked voice. He was using that same walk and voice now.

Clym was irritated to shoot against an aged man. "Give up, old man," he warned. "I can hit the bull's eye from twenty more paces back."

"Try it," Robin challenged.

"You're on."

They each stepped back twenty paces, let fly their arrows, and each was successful again hitting the bull's eye.

"Another perfect round!" called the crier.

Prince John enjoyed the suspense. "Ooh! Can they retreat yet another twenty paces?"

Clym was growing annoyed. Not being used to serious competition, he complained, "He cheats! What sort of bow is he using? Let him use an English longbow; then we'll see who the real champion is!"

Robin was handed a longbow, vastly inferior to his exquisite Saracen bow. However, he knew it wasn't the quality of the bow that would decide the contest...it was the skill of the archer.

"Give up, old man," Clym repeated. "I plan on winning. Winning before the Prince of England will be a real feather in my cap. I mean to secure a place serving him."

"Believe me," Robin smirked in his own voice, "you don't want to serve Prince John."

"Why not? He's our king now."

Robin's eyes took on a steely look. "Richard is our king."

"Richard? You mean the king who deserted us, immediately following his coronation? Not likely!" Clum snorted. "You know what they say about Richard, don't you? The reason he hasn't begotten an heir is he's more interested in bedding his soldiers than his Queen."

Robin was stunned. Waves of outrage shot through him. He stopped himself from aiming an arrow directly at Clym.

"You say you want a feather in your cap? Well, I can help you with that!" Raising his longbow, he aimed an arrow at the sky. The crowd stared into the heavens, wondering what on earth the old man had done.

Suddenly, a whizz through the air brought Robin's arrow back to earth. It lodged itself through Clym's cap, grazing his ear. Its striped fletching put not one, but three feathers in Clym's cap.

Robin leaned casually upon his upright bow, smiling smugly, his eyes gleaming with contempt.

"What the hell?" Clym cried, amazed and frightened at his near brush with death. "How did you...?" The large man was shaking like a leaf.

"Lucky shot," Robin grinned. He had completely put aside his old man act.

Prince John grew suspicious. "There's only one man in the entire world who can shoot like that," he said under his breath. "I thought Locksley was in the Holy Land, fighting for my brother. But who else could it be?"

"Let's settle this contest once and for all," Clym vowed, angry now. "Twenty more paces back!"

"Just as you wish," Robin agreed, his voice hard.

The two contestants withdrew twenty more paces. Clym aimed and shot, just missing the bull's eye.

Now it was Robin's turn. He would prove to Clym just whom he had angered. He would do this for Richard, for his king.

Determinedly, he lined five arrows on the bow, one between each of his fingers. He stood so far back, none of the spectators saw him do it. All they saw was a flurry of arrows whizzing through the air, one right after the other. The first arrow lodged in the exact center of the target. It was immediately split by the next arrow. Arrow after arrow hit the exact same mark, each one splitting the previous one, until the fifth arrow lodged alone in the bull's eye, quivering violently, while the crowd looked on in stunned silence.

They didn't remain silent for long. Very shortly, a deafening roar of cheers arose. No one except Much and Prince John had ever seen shooting like that before.

"That," Robin told Clym, "was for King Richard. Spread more lies like the one you told me, and there will be an arrow aimed for you."

Prince John's voice rang out. "Robin! Robin of Locksley! Come here, Robin! I know it's you. Come forward and claim your prize money." The prince's voice was sing songish. He hated Locksley as much as his brother Richard loved him. He couldn't wait to taunt him in front of the entire town of St. Albans.

Robin ran toward the prince, flinging off his hood and the white wool Clorinda had tucked under it. Now that his identity was discovered and his anger had been raised, he welcomed the confrontation with the prince.

"Your Highness," he bowed before Prince John.

"How long has it been, Locksley? Five years?"

"Nearly, Your Highness."

"Why are you here? Why aren't you with my brother? He's not here, is he?"

"No, Your Highness, more's the pity."

John let that go. "Why did you dress up? Why did you seek to fool me? Are you afraid to face me, Locksley?"

"I once led an army of 6000 soldiers against Saladin's troops numbering 20,000 men, and won the battle. Why should I be afraid of Your Highness?"

Prince John's eyes narrowed. "Because, Locksley, I hold all power and might in England now."

"Then God help England."

"How dare you? I could have you arrested and tortured for your insubordination."

Robin was silent. But Prince John wasn't finished with him yet. He raised his voice to address the crowd.

"People," he began. "You see before you a man directly returned from the Holy Land! This man served directly under my brother Richard, if you understand my meaning! His man was his special friend, beloved by Richard over all others!" He laughed, enjoying the crowd's gasp and unhealthy fascination. Tossing Robn a purse, he simpered, "Oh, here's your prize money, Locksley. Enjoy the fair." He laughed once more before turning and strutting away.

Robin's face looked grim as he took the winner's purse to Much. "Much, I need you to distribute the prize money to the needy. Will you do that for me?"

"But Master...to the needy? What about us? What about my meat pie? And Robin, where are you going? What are you planning to do?"

"Will you, Much?"

Much sighed and nodded his head. "Good," Robin approved. "I need to have a word in private with Prince John."

...

(Note: Historians disagree as to whether Richard was "straight," bisexual, or homosexual. From my research, I believe he was straight, but loved war more than any woman. He had at least one bastard child, possibly two, born before his marriage. He was known to be smitten with the king of Cyprus's daughter. There is very little evidence of homosexuality, other than his wife bore him no children, and in his youth he once shared a bed with Prince Philip of France. The practice of sharing beds was common during the Middle Ages, however, and Philip was definitely not gay. There is also a supposed confession to a priest of "sodomy," though this is suspect. Most historians believe it was rumor spread by Prince John to discredit his brother, which would be consistent with John's behavior. In fact, Queen Beregaria was known to be deeply in love with her husband Richard, first falling for him when they met at a tournament Richard won in Spain. When he died, her grief was well documented. She chose to enter a convent where she lived out the rest of her days.)

(Second note: Allan's "square meal in a roundhouse" is actually clever. Meals were called "square" because plates were square pieces of wood. Taverns were often called "roundhouses" because some were shaped like ovals or circles.)


	44. Chapter 44

Sir Guy of Gisbourne lurked in the shadows, his intense gaze secretly following the Lady Marian's every step as she walked through the hallways of Nottingham Castle.

She carried a basket of apples. Again! Gisbourne had often spied her carrying apples. Her every move, her every gesture interested him. He wondered why she often carried fruit. He followed silently behind, his spurs removed, seeking to know her purpose.

He was surprised when she headed outdoors, yet still he shadowed her. He watched as she headed to the stables. Why had she gone there? He crept closer. He needed to know.

"Vesper," she sighed warmly, as though she were greeting a dear friend. "Look! I've brought you apples! And you too, Cobalt." She seemed to gather satisfaction from watching her horse and her father's eat the fruit. Gisbourne sneered as the greedy beasts devoured what she so gracefully offered. When the animals finished, she set the empty basket down and began stroking Vesper's muzzle affectionately, murmuring soft words as she smiled at the white horse.

Gisbourne watched as her hands gently and lovingly touched the animal's face. He breathed a sigh, hot with yearning. What he wouldn't give to feel those hands stroking him!

...

"Times have changed, Locksley, since you left England."

Prince John's spoiled mouth mocked Robin, as the former Crusader confronted him in a sumptuous chamber in St. Alban's Abbey.

"Not for the better, it seems."

The prince admired the glittering jewels adorning his royal fingers, twisting one of his rings while he spoke. "Oh, that all depends, now, doesn't it? Things are much better for me, for instance! And if they're better for me, they're better for everyone. People just don't realize it. It's a shame, really. I would be so much happier if people thought about me once in a while, instead of only thinking of themselves."

"What you implied about the king is a lie, and you know it. Do you make it a habit to dishonor your brother's name?"

"I only tell people what they already suspect to be true." Prince John snickered again, then pouted. "Bored now. Begone, Locksley. Isn't it time you set out for home?"

"Past time. But I warn you, Prince John, if I ever hear you accuse King Richard of unnatural acts again-"

"You'll what? Do you dare to threaten your prince, Locksley?"

"I'm not threatening. I'm making you a promise."

"How dare you? You will pay, Locksley! You will pay for your arrogance and disloyalty!"

Before John could recover his composure, Robin had turned and walked away without bowing. His face was pale with rage.

His own shire could not be faring as badly as Herefordshire, he was certain, for Nottinghamshire lay far to the north. St. Albans was practically next door to London, home to Prince John's Court. No wonder its people were suffering.

As he headed back toward the site of the fair, his thoughts turned homeward. His beloved home was so close now! Most of him longed for it...for the familiar sights and sounds and smells of Locksley. For his people...his villagers and the servants who loved him. Those men and women were a part of him. Many of them remembered his grandparents, his parents, and himself when he had been a small boy.

He breathed out a half laugh, half sigh. He had still been a boy when he'd left them, he realized. Only nineteen, but so sure of himself, so eager to go, believing himself a man. He had known nothing of life when he'd left home! Now, he knew too much. Too much of life, but mostly, too much of death.

He was returning a man, a trained killer, but a killer who hated killing and would do anything he could to avoid it. Instead of killing, his interests would be in caring for his people now, staying alert to stop any injustice that might creep its way northward from London. He would be diligent, and not think of Marian.

Why had he thought of her? Why had her name intruded upon his thoughts again? Why did thoughts of her constantly surface? She had nothing to do with this. Why did he still care so much it hurt?

What they'd felt for one another couldn't have been love...not the deep abiding love between a man and a woman. Marian was even younger than he. It had only been the fleeting feelings between a boy and a girl.

That was a lie. It was Love. It had always been Love. Whenever she had looked into his eyes, he felt she could see straight into his soul.

But all of that was gone forever. She obviously didn't care for him anymore. She had moved on with her life...married, or so he had been told.

But what if she hadn't? Why couldn't they pick up where they'd left off, for his feelings for her hadn't changed!

He furiously forced himself to stop his hopeless dreams. She had married. He'd heard it. He knew it. It was nightfall now. The moon was rising in the sky, and Marian was probably lying in the arms of her wretched husband Aylesbury this very moment, giving him her sweet lips and her precious self. Robin felt he wanted to reconsider his position on avoiding killing. The urge to kill Aylesbury was as strong and natural as the urge to pee.

He angrily looked about him in the darkness, his eyes stony, his breathing labored. His musings had cast him into the foulest of tempers. He didn't seek out Much...Much would find him soon enough. They'd need to build a fire, catch some dinner, skin and cook it, and get a few hour's sleep on the ground, before rising and hiking north in the morning.

A female voice in the dark welcomed him.

"I've been waiting for you," Clorinda whispered.

Waiting! If he could only hear those words on Her lips! But as the fortune teller in, where had it been? Genoa? As the fortune teller had said, he had been away too long.

Robin's foul temper made him welcome the tumble. It would do well to cover what he was feeling. Still, his sense of honor made him object.

"But I'm going home," he explained, coldly.

"Not tonight you're not."

Without another word, he grabbed the eager woman and poured all his frustrations and yearnings for his lost Love into her.


	45. Chapter 45

Much was keeping his mouth shut. He wasn't saying anything! He wouldn't say anything.

Robin shouldn't be the only one getting to enjoy the company of women! Just because he was all broken up over losing Marian, didn't mean others didn't have yearnings, too. Sometimes, in the Holy Land, Much had felt...hunger...in his heart. Maybe Clorinda would have been the one to fill that hunger! Maybe she was the one and only woman in the entire world for him! But he'd never know now, would he?

He exploded. "It's bad enough you won't let me sing, Master, but...Clorinda! Really, Robin! I saw her first, you know!"

Robin hid his shame and embarrassment behind a cocky grin. He'd had no idea Much had been interested in Clorinda. She'd had some strange ideas, and he almost wished she had chosen Much over him.

Not only that, but the entire night had been somewhat of a fiasco. Clorinda's brother Clym had discovered them together, and Robin had needed to fight him off and flee. Not that he was complaining about that...he relished a fight. Although slighter in size than Clym, he was quicker and far more clever, and it had been fun to easily best him.

As Robin and Much continued their journey toward home, Much continued complaining.

"You are lucky I am not easily offended. A smaller man would be wounded! And Robin! Giving away all our money? Really, Master! What were you thinking? St. Alban's boasts a lovely inn and several taverns. We could have dined on partridge, or beef, or pork! We could have slept in actual beds! But did we?" He shook his head knowingly. "You know, you might have given our money to the Roundhouse Inn rather than the peasants, if you wanted to leave it all in St. Albans! At least we would have gotten something for our silver!"

"We got the satisfaction of helping others, Much. That's better than any dinner or comfortable bed."

"Please!"

They walked in silence, bothered by swarms of buzzing flies and bees.

"Shoo!" Much cried, trying to wave away the flying insects. "Shoo!" Insects seemed strangely attracted to Robin today, as if he were some kind of fragrant flower.

Much sniffed his nose in Robin's direction. Umm, he did smell rather nice...rather like strawberries, or strawberry jam. Curious, that.

...

Much kept up his complaints as they walked northward along Watling Street, the old Roman road that wound north from St. Albans. Hearing the sound of crying, Robin held up his hand and ordered silence.

"Hold...hold," he said, listening.

Much listened as well. "It sounds like crying," he observed.

Stepping from the road and pushing aside foliage, Robin and Much came upon an elegantly dressed lovely blond and her hefty nurse. Both women were holding onto one another and sobbing.

"Excuse us," Robin interrupted courteously. "I am Robin of Locksley, and this is my friend Much, Lord of Bonchurch. May we offer you some assistance?"

"Not unless you can save Lady Gweneth here from having to marry Foster of Rotherham." The old nurse and her young charge burst into fresh tears at the mention of the dreaded name.

Robin remembered Foster from years back. He was nasty, and a schemer...a friend to Prince John and an enemy of the king.

"Why should you have to marry him?" he asked, addressing the fair lady. "He already has a wife, hasn't he?"

"Not any longer," Lady Gweneth answered. "His late wife fled from his manor-"

"I know it...Hagthorn Waste." Robin's face betrayed his disgust for the vile place.

"Yes, My Lord. She fled, and was found dead in Grimly Mere, under very mysterious circumstances."

Murdered, no doubt, by her husband, Robin thought to himself.

"You do not have to marry him," he said decisively.

"But Master, how can you decide that? We don't even know these people!"

"I know Foster, and this lady will never be his wife."

"But what can you do, My Lord?" the old nurse asked. "You cannot stop the wedding!"

A slow grin spread across Robin's features.

"Trust me," he said brightly. "I have a plan. Tell me, is there anyone Foster of Rotherham fears?"

...

Although Lady Gweneth and her nurse Matilda knew of no living person Foster feared, they did know he was highly superstitious, and were also able to supply grisly details of his recent doings. The worst story involved a local peasant, Coleman Grey, whom Foster had captured and burnt alive, while he and his friends stood by, watching and laughing.

"That is revolting!" Much cried.

"Coleman was an honest farmer, with a wife and four children to support. He'd done nothing to Foster, other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time," Lady Gweneth explained.

"And who's caring for his widow and children now?" Robin asked.

"Master, please! You can't support every needy person in the entire kingdom!"

"Don't give me ideas."

"His widow receives alms from the church, but it's not enough to keep her. If taxes weren't so high, things would be better."

"Right," Robin said. "If we help you, will you help his widow?"

"I will. But what can you do?"

Robin grinned, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Good. Once you're free and clear, I'll need you to find a position for the widow in your household...she's sure to have some skills you can employ. And as her children grow, they can work for you also. How does that sound?"

"Save milady from Rotherham first," Matilda insisted. "Then we'll talk."

"I'm supposed to be at the church this moment," Lady Gweneth fretted. "Oh, dear! He's sure to be angry! He'll come looking for me, and take me by force!"

"Stay here," Robin commanded. "Much will protect you. You've nothing to fear. He was a hero at Acre." He was pleased to be able to give Much a helping hand impressing the fair Gweneth. It eased his conscience for inadvertantly stealing Clorinda from his friend.

"Me? Master! I wasn't the hero! You were. Robin, where are you going?"

Robin threw his answer back over his shoulder, as he darted away. "Going to stop the wedding, of course!"

...

In the nearby church, Foster of Rotherham was furious.

"She dares keep me waiting?" he bellowed. "She thinks to humiliate me on my wedding day? Enough! I will find her and drag her here by her hair!"

Stepping to the door, he found his passage blocked by a hooded monk in a black robe.

"Out of my way, Brother," Foster ordered.

"Do not pass without first receiving my holy blessing," the tall monk warned, "on peril of your life."

"What nonsense is this?" Foster asked. "Step aside, monk. I've a woman to fetch."

Robin, for that is who the monk was, did as he was told, but his voice was full of doom as he cried, "Beware the churchyard! Beware the ghost of Coleman Grey!"

Foster stopped short. His face paled as he gulped, "What nonsense is this?"

"It is not nonsense, my son. I saw his ghost myself as I enterred the church. His ghostly body glows, as if on fire! He claims to be here for the man who killed him, to take him to Hell, where he too will burn, for all eternity!"

Foster of Rotherham swayed on his feet. Recovering himself, he pulled his sword from its sheath and pushed his way past Robin. Mounting his horse, he rode uncontrollably around the churchyard, crying aloud for Coleman Grey to show himself. Robin shook his head under his monk's robe and chuckled lightly.

"An omen," Robin cried, making the sign of the cross. "Repent of your sins, my son! Release the fair lady you plan to marry against her will, and I will absolve you from your sins. Then and only then will the ghost of Coleman Grey retreat, leaving you to live out the rest of your days in peace!"

There was a commotion as Much arrived, accompanied by the two women.

"Master? Master, where are you?"

"Much," Robin hissed through clenched teeth, "what are you doing here?"

"Is that you, Robin? Ah, I didn't recognize you! Wonderful disguise, that!"

Foster of Rotherham stopped fighting invisible demons and turned his sword on Robin. Leaping from his horse, he approached the former Crusader.

"I thought I recognized your voice," he sneered. "Locksley! You dare to make a mockery of me on my wedding day?"

"You don't need my help. You were doing just fine on your own."

"It's a good thing for you we're near a churchyard. That way, your faithful servant won't have very far to go to dispose of your body!"

Rotherham lunged his blade at the unarmed Robin, who dodged it deftly.

"Master!" Much cried, tossing Robin's scimitar to him. Robin caught its shining hilt.

"Here now," Rotherham cried, "what sort of sword is that?"

"A sword that commands you to release Lady Gweneth."

The two men clashed swords again and again, until Robin got the upper hand and knocked Rotherham's blade to earth. Holding his scimitar to his enemy's throat, Robin walked him back a single step.

"Yield," Robin commanded.

"By releasing her? How can I release her? Look for yourself, Locksley. The lady stands there...not in my grasp."

"Yet you mean to bind her to you against her will."

"Her will? Since when do unmarried maidens have any will?"

"Since I returned to England to grant it to them."

Rotherham turned pale, trying to master his fear. He had no idea Robin had turned against killing. For all he knew, he was already a dead man.

"Swear to me," Robin continued, the steel of his blade cold against Rotherham's throat, "give me your word that you will not marry her, or take her to your bed against her will."

"And if I do not?"

"Swear," Robin ordered.

Foster of Rotherham grudgingly agreed, and Robin withdrew his sword. Rotherham's word meant nothing anyway. Once Locksley had gone, he could please himself. Still, he was confused why Robin had not killed him. He would have done so, had he won the battle.

"You could have killed me, Locksley. Why didn't you?"

"I uphold the law, for one thing," Robin answered.

Rotherham scoffed. "Who would condemn you? Not the lady, nor her nurse. Certainly not your faithful dog there. Come now, Locksley, confess. Why did you release me? Don't you realize you take a risk letting me go? I might kill you now, or, heaven forbid, go back on my promise."

"If I hear that you have, you will die."

"And will you do the deed? What's the matter, Locksley? Are you afraid to kill?"

Robin stared hard at Rotherham. "I fear nothing."

Much spoke up. "My master is done with killing. He's killed enough. No more. Be thankful for that, Rogue."

Rotherham laughed. "That is indeed interesting news. I'll be sure to pass along that information to all my friends."

As Robin and Much escorted the fair Lady Gweneth and her nurse Matilda to safety, Rotherham spoke aloud to himself.

"I must send a dispatch to the Sheriff of Nottingham, telling him to expect Huntington home." He laughed. "A changed Huntington. A peace lover. I can just see Vaisey's face when he reads the news!"


	46. Chapter 46

Robin and Much lay on their cloaks on the ground, their heads resting on packs, staring up at stars twinkling through the webbing of the treetops overhead.

It had been another long weary day of travel. Somehow, Much mused, when he traveled with Robin, they never just marked miles. Oh, no. Somehow, the days were always eventful.

This day, they had rescued a wouldbe poacher...a father-to-be, no less...from losing a finger, they had safely run away from an army of pursuing guards, they had wasted several hours digging a ditch without benefit of the roast pig that was supposed to follow, and they had...well, Robin had, battled a former soldier turned fuller after kissing his daughter. And of course, they had run away from that situation as well, with Robin laughing gleefully the entire flight.

And now, here they lay, on the cold hard ground, when they could have been sleeping in their own beds, under their own roof, by their own fires in Locksley.

Home! Only a few miles more, and they would be home! No wonder neither of them could sleep tonight.

"Master," Much ventured, "what's the first thing you'll do once we're home?"

Robin smiled dreamily. They were so close now, anticipation tickled his excited nerves. He hadn't really allowed himself to truly believe he would see his beloved family home again until today.

What would be his first act upon arriving home? "Greet my people, of course," he grinned.

"And after that?"

He sighed. He wasn't sure, but all day long he had done little but think of Her. He had to know.

"Ride straight to Nottingham, I suppose, and see Sir Edward. I need to report the brutality of his soldiers we met in the forest."

"Oh! Robin! That reminds me! Sir Edward might not be Sheriff any more."

"What?" Robin propped himself up on elbows.

"That's right! The fuller was telling me, while you were busy...busy...busy kissing!" There! He had said it! And he meant it to sting!

"What did he tell you?" Robin's voice betrayed his concern.

"He said 'the old man' was finished, and there's a new, younger sheriff now. So, I suppose you'll need to ride straight to Nottingham and meet him, since you want to report those revolting guards."

Robin was silent. A new sheriff? What had happened to Sir Edward? And where would Robin find him? He guessed he'd be at Knighton. Well, he'd certainly need to speak with him to learn everything that had happened while he had been away. He needed to know...everything.

...

Marian lay smiling in her bed, dreaming a beautiful dream.

In it, she was interrupted from brushing her hair by a familiar whistle outside her window. No night bird made that sort of call! Since he liked so much to visit after dark, she'd remind him he ought to start hooting like an owl instead of whistling like a robin.

His tousled head was already at her window, and she laughed, stopping him from climbing all the way through.

"My father will hear! Stay where you are."

"Your father's here? Why isn't he at the Castle?"

"I wouldn't let you in anyway, no matter where he'd be. It's late. What do you want?"

Her words were harsh, but her tone was friendly, teasing, inviting. She couldn't hide how pleased she was to see him. Nor did she want to.

She began brushing his hair with her hairbrush, much to his chagrin.

"There!" she said. "That's better! Now, at least you look presentable. Almost."

"Since you've fashioned me to suit you, won't you kiss me?"

"Is that why you're here? You'll need to find a better reason for being here so late, if you want to-"

But he had already sealed her mouth with his own.

In Marian's dream, she could taste his mouth and feel his hair as she grasped and wound her fingers through it. The hairbrushing had been for naught, for she mussed his locks worse than they had been when he'd arrived.

They pulled apart and smiled into each other's faces, their eyes glowing with love and affection. The pad of his thumb, so rough from his bow string, stroked her cheek with exquisite tenderness. She eagerly pulled his face to hers again.

But, in her dream, something had changed. She was no longer kissing Robin. Fear seeped slowly through her as she kissed...who? She tried to pull away, but couldn't. Someone...strong, powerful, dark, and heady...was kissing her, robbing her of her will and her breath. She fought for air, she fought for freedom, but he wouldn't release her mouth. She was suffocating...dying. With all her strength she beat her fists on his broad blackclad leather back, but he only deepened the kiss. "Help me!" she screamed into his open mouth while his roving tongue explored her hidden depths, but no sound came.

Marian awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

The sun had just begun to rise on a new day.


	47. Chapter 47

**(Note: This chapter was written by FireSpring Roses, who graciously shared it with me to complete this story. I made only minor revisions. So, when you review, let her know how wonderful it is!)**

**...**

The world had been lacking sense for so long.

The most recent events in Locksley had triggered a proper manhunt. Unsurprised by the Sheriff's preposterousness, and despite her father's advice against it, Marian had tried, and thunderously failed, to summon any sort of humanity left in Vaisey.

Had it really been so important that a few sacks of flour were missing? If the lawbreakers, who were nothing but hungry teenaged boys, were not to be punished as brutally as the Sheriff had threatened, would anyone else attempt to imitate them? Hardly. The shire wasn't in danger of instability because a few sacks of flour had gone missing, but the mad man's ears heard no plea. Those boys had made an appointment with the gallows, and the Sheriff would personally see that they would not miss it.

The past grievous days and those expected to come exhausted her, physically and mentally. Sometimes she felt old, as if decade upon decade had washed over her body and left marks on her soul.

Then she felt angry with herself. As the Nightwatchman, she was inadequate. People still suffered. Oh, but she would keep fighting! The outrageous arrest of the Scarlet boys had renewed her resolve. As long as she could stand on her feet and use her hands to offer help to others, she'd never stop.

While trying to decide what her next route would be, she heard hoofbeats approach the Hall. Frustration pierced her body. Would Gisbourne never stop annoying her? She inwardly shuddered, remembering the dream she had had last night. That man assumed he had the right to come and go as he pleased. And more than that, he expected her to be an attentive and comely hostess. Her own house wasn't a safe shelter anymore.

Pulling herself together to perform again for the ravenous eyes of Sir Guy of Gisbourne, she heard her father's voice yelling.

"Get out!" Edward cried. "Get away from here!"

"Edward!" another voice called in genuine surprise. "It's me, your friend. Robin of Locksley!"

Marian froze. Even without the name, she would have known the man's identity perfectly. The sound of his voice was as fresh in her memory as if they had only just spoken. The echo of their last conversation, painful as it was, was so loud she almost felt she was reliving it.

"I know who you are!" Edward's tone 'woke' her before she sank too deeply into reminiscing. Her father's voice was harsh, but his mild character didn't let him be intimidating enough. "Crooks, come to deceive me! I'll allow none of you here!"

Robin spoke again, more surprised this time. "I swear, I come in friendship!" He tried to mollify the old man.

Marian wondered why he had come. This totally unexpected, insanely upsetting and so dangerously arousing visit. A flood of questions invaded her mind. When had he returned? Why now? Would he leave again?

But he was there! Beyond doubt. Beyond reason! A dream no longer, but with blood coursing through his veins! Blood!

What if he were injured? What if he had lost an arm or a leg? She had heard of such stories. Was that the reason he had returned home? Oh, how she needed to know! A wild desire to see him, touch him, feel him overcame her. With the same inner force, though, she longed to be locked away in the most remote room possible, unable to get close to him.

"Get away! I'm no longer the Sheriff!" Edward was firm in his refusal to admit him. "Leave me to live out my days in peace."

In the name of all things holy, she was not ready for this! Not now...not ever. No, she wouldn't meet his blue mesmerizing eyes. Not with the whole host of the Lord's angels pushing her to him.

But she couldn't leave her father to fight this alone. If the spies would suspect anything, it would be the end of him. And that stupid man kept insisting so keenly. How very like him!

She grabbed her bow, cocked an arrow, drew a deep breath, and stepped into his vision.

"You heard my father. Leave!"

She prayed he wouldn't hear her thundering heartbeats. He, who had returned to her house as if he had only left it the previous night. As if she had never spent endless sleepness nights since they had last met.

But. There. He. Was!

Looking exactly as she remembered him, almost. Older, a man now, his hair shorter, and sporting a beard! She tried to decide whether she liked it, and decided she did. Very, very much. Thinner...thinner even than Roger had been, and worn out, but somehow exactly the same man her heart was beating for. Used to beat for!

"Marian." His face lit up. "It's me...Robin." He smiled. How she had missed that smile!

But she was outraged. Why did he always believe this simple statement was enough to make her forgive and forget?

"Congratulations," she said, taking a threatening step his direction. "Leave."

"How are you?" he asked, using his usual charms. "I thought of you."

Marian wanted so desperately to shoot that arrow just to make him stop speaking. He was late, as always. Five years late. No, she refused to be drawn into this again. Once was enough. Twice would make her a fool. "Leave!"

"We're leaving." Much spoke sense.

But of course, He didn't give up so easily. "Sir Edward, if you do not remember me, remember Nottingham! Remember your people!" Robin cried.

How dare he? He had some nerve! Who had forgotten his people for five long years? Who had dashed off to battle, for his own glorious ends, leaving his poor people to fend for themselves? What was more, if he honestly believed her father was inconsiderate for the people who had been under his protection for so many years, he was out of his mind. If he ever dared imply that again, she'd make him pay!

Marian, stepping backwards, retreated into her house and slammed the door. Her father stood with his back to her, facing the fireplace. She felt glad for that. That way, he couldn't see her, pressing her body against the door to prevent herself from collapsing to the floor. This way, her father would never see her hands tighten into fists, to keep the scream inside her mind.

She could still hear his voice right outside her door.

"Interesting," he said, and she could picture the satisfied...quite confused, but certainly satisfied...look on his face.

"Interesting?" she heard Much scoff. "It's unbelievable! He used to treat us like...like sons!"

"She's still unmarried," he said, and Marian tensed as she pictured his smug grin grow wider.

What exactly did he make of the fact she was still unmarried? Did he fool himself she would be available for another round of the game they had failed, five years before?

"Oh! And I thought you came to see the old Sheriff!" Much commented.

"I did!"

"Please!" Much wasn't convinced and neither was she.

Soon after, they were gone. Her father was still staring at the flames, as if the fire hid part, or the whole of the solution.

"Well, well. That was unexpected!" It was clear from the way her father stared at her, he was trying hard to understand what impact Robin's return would have on his daughter.

Marian knew her father. Quickly, as she had learned to function, she had managed to compose herself and now appeared untouched by the event. "It is of no consequence," she stated, and hurried to the kitchen.

Her plans for the night wouldn't change. Why should they? She would visit the people who needed her. First her village and then...Locksley? That was complicated. She had planned to visit Dan Scarlet, but now? Now that their master was back, the people in Locksley would be taken care of. At least she hoped he would still be decent enough to look after them. After all, he had always seemed to care so much, until his leaving had thrown doubts upon that. But wasn't that the reason he had come to her house in the first place? Deep interest for the people?

"Finally," she sighed, "something good will come from his return."

For the rest of the day, she said nothing related to him. Her father was engrossed in his own thoughts and they shared no more than a few words in regard to their household.

When night fell and the mask was on, she allowed herself to think how this would affect her life. How this change should not affect her life. She'd need to gather herself together before she'd see him again.

The world had been lacking sense for so long, but if she, Marian of Knighton, still cared for the man who had broken her heart, then the world would never make sense again.

THE END


End file.
